Only Through The Pain
by Aerox
Summary: Season 2 AU: Only through the pain, do we find ways to learn. Sarah finds this out as Chuck embarks on a race against the clock to save the woman who can never love him back.
1. Denial

**A/N:** It's been long. Too long, some might say. But I've always learned that absence made the heart grow fonder... or something along those lines anyway. Whether this applies to any of you, well, I'll leave that in the middle.

Some might recognize this story already. All this basically is, is me transferring this story from my second account to my primary one. The reason I chose to write this on a secondary account, was because when I first came up with the idea, I knew for a fact that it wasn't going to be anywhere near a happy story. And of course, because it was going to deal with some very touchy subjects. So I figured that I'd give it a go and see what the response would be.

It was better than I expected. It was much less backlash-y than I figured, and since I figured that I hadn't posted anything in a while, I figured this is my "Hey, I'm okay!" post. There isn't anything new (bar a few periods and comma fixes) and a new, shiny title (because I wanted to punch myself every time I saw Kübler Ross. Talk about unimaginative titles!) but I do want to use this space to announce that I'm working on a sequel for this story. And this time, we're diving into Sarah's mind. Hooray! Also, it will be angsty-ish. How much angst, I can't say yet. I have a general idea, but I'm still working out the kinks (see what I did there?). **  
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I'll post a chapter every Friday. There are five chapters in total. Hope you enjoy.

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**DENIAL**

* * *

"...The man you've flashed on is Lucien Porter, a French industrialist who moved to America a few years ago, with known ties into FULCRUM. We believe that…" The General trailed off when my hand shot into the air. "May I remind you, Mr. Bartowski, that you are no longer in grade school. We do not raise hands. You have permission to speak freely."

My face went red and I smiled sheepishly, ignoring the snort coming from behind me. "Oh right," I nodded. "Um so I was wondering why Fulcrum cares so much about a French industrialist. Weren't they supposed to be super patriotic about their _own _country or something?"

"Major Casey, would you mind explaining to the asset…" the disdain that dripped from her voice when she addressed me by my title only served to humiliate me further, "…why exactly Fulcrum is interested in a French financier."

"Of course, ma'am," Casey said with a curt nod. "The reason that Fulcrum is so interested in a European financier is _exactly_ because they're so patriotic. No one would ever suspect transfers from a European country to be the source of income for an organization that has the political agenda of the United States as its main target."

"I should let you explain things to me more often when Beckman is watching. At least it'll stop you from insulting me," I quipped.

"Watch it, moron."

"Spoke too soon," I sighed. Sarah hid a smile which I found to be a shame. She was so pretty when she smiled, not to detract from the fact that she's always pretty regardless, but well... you get the idea…

Beckman cleared her throat. "If we're all done with the name calling?" Of course she didn't actually allow a response. "Agent Walker, you are to distract the target while the Major and the asset will break into the room of Mr. Porter and find proof of his involvement in the supporting of FULCRUM. Photograph any and all relevant documents that you can find."

I raised my hand again, although it was a lot more timid this time around. If I had to be honest with myself, I was a little scared that the vein that was throbbing in the General's forehead might burst. "Uh, ma'am… why exactly am I needed on this mission? Wouldn't it be easier if I supported Agent Walker and let Casey take care of the room on his own?"

She sighed. "Mr. Bartowski. We do not possess the Intel to know exactly where the safe is located, but the Intersect does. We need you to pinpoint the location for a quick extraction. The sooner we have the files, the sooner Agent Walker can finish her part and we can all come back in one piece, as well as dealing a significant blow to the finances of the organization that is intent on destroying the country that both Agents Walker and Casey have sworn to protect, and to which you yourself have committed to as your role as the Intersect."

"Not by choice," I grumbled, but the swift kicks to my shins made sure that it was the last time I uttered a negative word about my current situation. Sarah at least had the decency to look apologetic. Casey took some sort of sick satisfaction from hurting me. But that was Casey. It was our thing. I couldn't blame the guy for bonding with me, could I? Even if it was more painful than pleasant.

"If that is all," she said, didn't even bother phrasing it like a question because we all knew how it went. She told us what to do and like lapdogs we would rush out to do it. She jabbed at the connection button and the image closed.

It was kind of obvious that I stepped out of the wrong side of my bed this morning. Everything served to annoy me and I couldn't help but shake a feeling of dread that had been steadily building throughout the briefing. Something about this mission felt… off. Maybe it was a bit too easy? It seemed too convenient, the way that FULCRUM always seemed to have everything going down in Los Angeles.

I shook the crazy thoughts out of my mind, before addressing Sarah.

"I'm sorry you have to do this," I said, my tone bashful.

"It's not your fault, Chuck," she informed me, a small smile playing on her lips. "But thanks for apologizing anyway."

Casey walked behind me, racking the chamber on one of his fancy pistols. "Stop it with the lady feelings and let's get going. Walker, you do what you do best, me and Boy Wonder over here will break into his room and find the files." He always liked needling me about Sarah's excellent seduction scores. I'd like to think that my reaction would be just as harsh if it didn't involve the woman I loved, but well, I couldn't be sure. Still, there was something less than human about forcing your own agents to flirt with the enemy. Even if flirting was as far as it went.

Sarah recognized my mood; of course she did, and rushed to reassure me. "Don't worry, Chuck. Just make sure you flash as soon as possible and we can get out of it without too much of a problem."

And then she smiled that smile at me, the one that made all my worries melt away like snow in the sun. I never did see it as her exerting control over me, although that was probably what it was. Everything to keep me compliant, although that still didn't stop me from running out of the car whenever Sarah or Casey, or anyone really, was in danger.

Still, it was a foregone conclusion to myself that I was hopelessly in love with her. While I would deny it to anyone who asked—at least, those who were from the government considering I had to sell us being in love to my friends and family—it was no use denying it to myself in the comfort of my own thoughts.

It probably explained why I felt the way I did about seductions as well. After all, I had met Carina and despite being freaked out about her playful side, I didn't get the same feeling of disgust when I thought about her seducing someone. That wasn't to say I didn't feel disgusted, because I did. Just, less disgusted.

We each went our separate ways. I chose to stop by the apartment and quickly put on a suitable blouse and jeans combination. Casual, that was the theme of tonight. Just two friends—me and Casey although I wondered if Casey could even pull off civil acquaintance, let alone a friend—sitting in the restaurant of a hotel and Sarah sat at the bar, schmoozing with a FULCRUM agent.

I felt my blood pressure sky rocketing, and had to take a few deep breaths. Was Sarah aware of how I felt for her? Because, the way I saw it, it wasn't in the job description of an agent to make sure that an asset felt secure in a cover relationship. But apparently, given her earlier rush to reassure me, that was what Sarah was doing.

Idly, I toyed with the idea of switching sides. I would probably end up in a small cell, but it would've been worth it because then, at least Sarah would've actually done something with me rather than keep me at arm's length, only occasionally letting me in, letting me see a glimpse of the true woman behind the veil that her job required her to don. I groaned. I couldn't believe that thought had entered my head, even in jest. I may not have been on the best terms with the government, but that didn't mean I was going to betray them and forever be branded a traitor.

Besides, getting to slowly peel away the layers that made up Sarah was so much more fulfilling than any fling could ever be. I hoped I had enough time to reach the core before she was snatched away from my life. And with Orion seemingly on the government's radar, it would only be a matter of time before they captured him and forced him to build a device that would remove the Intersect. Time wasn't exactly on my side lately.

I finished dressing and combed my hair, although I made sure that it wasn't too combed. Sarah had made an offhanded remark about liking the apparent "animal shapes" it made. I couldn't see any animals in them, but if Ellie and Sarah did, I suppose they were lost somewhere among the unkempt curls. So I just shrugged and agreed.

To save time, I went out through the Morgan Door and knocked on Casey's door. It swung open to reveal the major in a blouse himself and I had to blink a few times. I'd never seen the man in anything other than either spy gear or the polo shirts of the Buy More. Oh, and the occasional butler or bell hop get-up too. Yet, this felt... different.

"Looking sharp, Casey," I grinned. The major did not look amused. But then, he never did look amused, like, at all.

After the obligatory compliment from me and the grunt in answer, we went to his Crown Vic. It'd draw less attention than the Herder after all. I slid into the passenger seat, and as he started the car, I reached out towards the radio, but he slapped down my hand. "Don't," he warned. "I don't like music when I drive."

"What _do _you like?" It was a valid question, I felt. After all, I hadn't seen the man smile once since he came to Burbank.

"Bonsai trees, scotch, hot pockets, Reagan and silence," he replied without missing a beat. Well, that kind of shut me up.

It didn't take long before we arrived at Sarah's hotel. She had requested a meet beforehand, although neither one of us knew why exactly. The elevator ride was one of the most awkward ones I've ever had in my life. Casey was actually trying to be... courteous to other people. Although I was well aware that I would eventually pay for him having to act like a human being. But it was fun while it lasted.

The elevator dinged and my feet walked to Sarah's door as if on auto pilot. Casey grunted and mumbled something, but I couldn't hear what he said. Knowing him, it was probably something mean. I knocked on the door and waited, feeling the habitual shyness returning. There was just something about waiting for Sarah to open the door that caused a rush of emotions to flood through me. Man, I'd fallen hard for this woman.

The door opened, but I didn't see Sarah. I heard her muffled footsteps dart back into the room and she called out that we should come in and make ourselves comfortable. The flash of leg and lacy bits that I did see didn't do much good for my already high heart-rate. With a voice that was only two octaves higher than normal, I informed the major that we should go in. He just shook his head. "It's like you've never seen a woman naked before, Bartowski."

"I haven't really, except Jill, and well, she tried to kill you guys and sell me to FULCRUM, so I'm sorry if I'm not too eager to count that one as a win."

Casey sighed. "If you'd played your cards right, you could've seen Walker naked at least five times already."

I sputtered, "W—what? Why would I want to see Sarah naked? We're colleagues after all and I..."

"Cram it, Bartowski. I don't have to be a spy to see how Walker's just looking for an excuse to jump your bones. And you're not much better yourself. It's disgusting to see."

"What's disgusting to see?" Sarah stepped out of the bathroom in a slinky blue dress that was... well, slinky was just about the only way to describe it. It did nothing to hide her figure and I felt the familiar rush of blood that drained from my brain to more... important parts, as nature and evolution had decided. I tried to say something but my tongue seemed to be three sizes too big for my mouth. "I see you approve?" she asked. I nodded vigorously. She gave me a brief smile before repeating her question.

I was about to reply with some vague excuse, when Casey cut me off. "You two. Just do each other a favor, have some kind of crazy sex party or whatever it is you two want to do and make sure I don't have to see those damn wistful glances anymore. Ugh."

My mouth dropped open. What the hell just happened?

"Look Casey, I didn't give you and Chuck permission to come inside here to discuss our sex lives. And I'm sure that even if we would, there wouldn't be much to talk about. Neither Chuck nor I have been with anyone recently, Jill Roberts notwithstanding. Especially since she was proven to have worked for the agency that's hell-bent on capturing him for god knows why," she sniped back.

"Hey, that's unfair! I'll have you know that I..." Her glare shut me up pretty good. God, she was hot when she was angry. Although that reminded me that she was angry, well at me, which kind of sucked. But I mean, it wasn't _my_ fault I got seduced by my ex-girlfriend turned rogue agent, was it? Okay, so I may have kicked Sarah to the curb a bit too enthusiastically but still. I felt like I should've gotten at least _some_ credit for making sure that she was still alive. And all Sarah had to do was just tell me that there was at least a chance at giving us a shot and I'd have never made eyes at any other woman ever.

Lovesick indeed.

Casey grunted, it sounded like mild respect, and nodded. "So go tell us what we're here for."

"Change of cover," she announced. "Chuck and I will play lovers who have a spat. Psychological profiles suggest that Porter is more likely to go after involved women."

Casey groaned. "This is just so you have an excuse to make googily eyes at Bartowski, isn't it?"

Sarah shook her head a bit too fast to be seen as completely natural and I couldn't help but grin. Maybe, just maybe... but that wasn't important now. Well, it was important, but not the reason why we were here. I had to focus on the mission. That was what they needed from me. It was a nice change of pace from the days where it was, 'Stay in the car, Bartowski' and other commands that made me feel more like a puppy than an actual human being. But then again, it wasn't like I was going to let the people I cared about get hurt. Not on my watch.

I called both my handlers to attention and we strode out of the room. I'm sure we must've looked like the biggest band of misfits ever. A stunning woman in a slinky dress accompanied by a bodyguard and a nerd both donning semi-casual attire. This was either the setup to an incredibly lame joke or a low budget porn flick. It was essentially the perfect cover. It was also supremely awkward.

We drew some stares from the guests in the lobby but Sarah and Casey ignored them. I tried to, but I felt myself fold under their gazes. So I picked up the pace and ended up beating my handlers to the door by at least ten paces.

The three of us all piled into the Ford and immediately set off towards the restaurant where we knew Lucien would be. For some reason, the air in the car was charged. Sarah kept alternating between glancing at me or Casey and it freaked me out. Something was different about her tonight.

"Will you stop looking at us? You're giving me the creeps, Walker."

"Oh, sorry Casey."

He simply grunted in reply but that confirmed it in my mind. There was something wrong with Sarah.

We screeched into the parking lot and we went over the plan one more time. Sarah and I were supposed to pose as a couple that was having a lover's quarrel while Casey would be a patron at the bar. After the spat, which was supposed to be loud enough to have the entire restaurant's attention, I would leave and Sarah would go to the bar, conveniently placing herself next to Lucien. All she had to do was keep him busy and provide him an incentive to stay and talk to her. Afterwards, she'd take him up to his room; probably endure a little necking before tranqing him and staging the room. We'd hand the photographic proof over to the Feds who would take care of the bust. The plan was simple enough, but I couldn't help but feel the brief rush of jealousy overtake me as Casey told Sarah what they expected from her.

Sarah looped her arm through mine and we walked up to the maître d' and got our reservation. It always amazed me how efficient the government could be when they put their minds into it. But as Sarah started walking after the man, I pulled her aside. "Hey, are you okay? You seemed really distracted in the car."

"I'm fine, Chuck," she smiled back. "There's nothing to worry about."

"Okay," I nodded. "But you'd tell me if there was, right?"

"Sure," she said, but her eyes flicked away briefly. Her tell. I had never seen her make that gesture except when it came to me and lying to me. I didn't know whether to press it and spill the beans on knowing her tell or keeping my mouth shut in case it would come in handy later.

My dilemma was answered when Sarah sighed. "It's just, Casey really annoyed me. I get that you're under a lot of stress with this whole cover girlfriend thing, and he's not making it any easier. I'm sorry." She put a hand on my arm and I swore I could feel heat radiating through the fabric, but that was probably my imagination.

But there was something about the way she said what was bothering her, that caused me to doubt whether it was because Casey was getting to me, or if it was because it was getting to her. Either way I couldn't allow my mind to wander to that beautiful place just yet. The place where Sarah would actually open up to me and would be willing to start something real, and where Casey would treat me like a normal human being instead of a super computer on legs. No, first we had a mission.

We linked arms again and followed the maître d' as he was impatiently standing at the table. I imagined he was about three seconds from planting a fist in his hips and tapping his foot.

Sarah ordered the food and I had no problems with that. Several guys gave me funny looks, but I shrugged and nodded to her. Almost all of them solemnly agreed with me that letting her order the food was just about the lowest item on the list of things they were willing to go through to be with her.

Sarah simply smiled. "Don't think I didn't see what that was about, Chuck," she teased.

I shrugged. "It's not like it's not true or anything." She simply smiled back but that was enough. Our drinks arrived soon enough and after Sarah had nodded her approval—I usually drank two buck Chuck so it wasn't like I had any sort of knowledge about wine anyway, although I could appreciate a good Chardonnay—we toasted on partnerships. She raised her glass to her lips when I saw her do a double take and she got a teasing glint in her eye. My eyes darted towards the glass she was holding. "Oh no, no, no. This is a new shirt. And you're holding red wine!"

"Please?" she asked, her face the picture of innocence. I was about to reject when she added a pout to the list and I was hopelessly lost.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," I mumbled. She just laughed and took a long sip. "I'll have you know that I will find a way to get you back for this."

"Can't wait," she said, her eyes sparkling in mirth. I shook my head and we continued to chat amicably. At one point she put her hand on mine and I couldn't help but shiver at the touch. Man, I was pathetic. But then again, it seemed like Sarah was affected as well. Either that or she was one hell of an actress.

Nine PM rolled around and Sarah gingerly dabbed her napkin to her mouth, before nodding. I sighed and nodded back.

"Don't worry, Chuck. Everything is going to be fine," she whispered. Then she took a deep breath—which did wonderful things to her dress—and shouted, "I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU!" causing the entire restaurant to turn towards me. "Not only do you cheat on me, but you cheat on me with my sister?"

"Baby, listen, I didn't..."

"SHUT UP!" she shrieked, grabbing her wine glass and hurtling the liquid at me at a frightening pace. The splash that followed silenced the entire restaurant.

"Sarah, please I never meant to..." She stormed off in a huff that was Academy Award worthy and I slumped in my seat. I would be lying if I said I didn't have fun with that one, even though she did most of the heavy lifting. The patrons started giving me surreptitious glances and disapproving looks so I faked embarrassment and slid out of my seat. With a bowed head I made my way towards the elevators, while Sarah sat down at the bar.

I pressed the button to the elevator as Casey sidled up to me. "Good job, Bartowski. You sold it quite well."

"It was mostly Sarah, but thanks anyways big guy."

He chuckled like it was obvious. "Of course. But still."

"Casey... did you just... compliment me?"

He gave an uneasy grunt and the doors of the elevator slid open. We stepped in and I heard someone's voice speak up. "Problems with your boyfriend?"

"Yeah you could say that," a saccharine voice replied. Her voice had taken on a sultry quality that I couldn't ignore. Uneasily, I grabbed my collar and tried to loosen a tie that wasn't there. Surely she knew what she was doing to me, right? Maybe on some kind of sick perverse level she enjoyed it. Seeing how she could make me squirm. I didn't know whether I found it to be extremely evil or arousing. Probably both.

"Keep it in your pants, Bartowski."

I glared at him but he just smiled back at me. Honestly, it looked a little scary. The doors slid open while Sarah made some more sultry talk and I groaned. Two seconds later, the feed stopped. "Oh, great, because of you being unable to handle Walker doing her job, she shut down her comms." Casey sighed.

"Should we go check on her?"

"Walker's a professional. She'll be fine."

I nodded and we came up to the door. Casey whipped his lock-pick set out of the leather roll and set to work. I was amazed that a hotel this fancy wouldn't have electronic locks, but rather old fashioned ones. But it proved to be better for us as Casey had the door open in no time.

I gasped when I entered the room. I'd seen some luxurious places during my stint as an asset whose screams of girlish terror pierced the night sky, but none quite stood up to this. A luxurious king-size bed stood firmly in the middle of the room, facing a TV that had me drooling. Dressers and closets were positioned around the room and even though I was no expert in art, I knew with a hundred percent certainty that there were several grandmasters adorning the room.

I looked through the room, focusing on every single object I could see, but nothing happened. Annoyed, I swiveled around when my eye fell on the light switch. The telltale feeling of memories that weren't mine hit me dead on. "Okay Casey, the light switch is used as a Morse code machine. Simply spell out the word SAFE and it should open up a hidden compartment somewhere."

The burly marine moved over to the light switch and flicked it up, down, up. In my head, I was talking along. _"S..."_ He waited two seconds, before flicking the switch down and up, once again waiting after the up movement. _"A..."_ He flicked it up and down in quick succession, before flicking it up, waiting a beat and flicking it down again. _"F..."_ He finished with a single flick up and I could hear a beep below one of the paintings in the room. The little door swung open and inside was the safe we'd been looking for. "Casey, are you any good with safes?"

He laughed. "Only Walker is better as far as I know." The disdain that was there when we chased after Riordan Paine was completely gone. Who knew that Casey could actually care for his partners?

He set to work, silencing the room. I started fidgeting with the buttons on my shirt, looking down at the stain of wine with a grimace. Damn that woman and her control over me. Although I was sure that she wanted that control to bleed over in me actually staying in the car.

I activated the communication device and asked, "Sarah, what's your position?" I was met with silence. "Sarah?" I ventured again. "Casey, Sarah isn't responding."

"Give her some time, moron. She might be busy playing tonsil hockey with that FULCRUM dirt bag."

"Can you stop being such an asshole to me all the time?" I asked, annoyed. "I mean, you know I feel uncomfortable about those kinds of things and yet you continue to torment me about it."

He shrugged. "People cope with things differently. This is how I cope." The tumblers clicked into place and Casey let out a snicker in amusement. "I've still got it." We found the files we were looking for and quickly snapped the photographs that we could feed into the FBI. The entire procedure took around fifteen minutes, tops. Satisfied, we cleaned the room up and went back downstairs. "Walker, we're done. Time to end this and go home."

The feed remained silent.

"Walker?" he tried again and a horrible feeling bubbled up in my stomach. I turned towards him and I saw something I had never thought I would see before. Casey looked frightened. The doors dinged open and we rushed out, but when we arrived at the bar, Sarah's seat was taken by someone who was definitely not Sarah. I ran up to the bartender and flagged him down.

"Hey, what happened to the blonde sitting in that chair over there? Around 5'11, fair haired, blue eyes, blue dress."

"Sorry dude, she left with some guy," the bartender answered. "Shame you missed your chance though."

"Casey," I hissed, the panic seeping into my voice. "Sarah's gone with Lucien."

"Dammit," he whispered in reply.

"Oh, hey, by the way, are you uh... Charles Carmichael?"

My eyebrows rose up. Why would anyone know my alias? We were here under different names. "Uh, sure," I said as I saw Casey inching for his gun.

"Yeah, she did leave you a note bro. Hang on." He rummaged behind the bar and picked up a napkin. "Got it," he said before he passed it over to me. I devoured the writing, the flowing calligraphy so typically Sarah.

_Dear Chuck,_

_I'm sorry I didn't get to say this earlier, but I love you. Please forget about me. I'm so very, very sorry._

_Love,  
Sarah_

I gasped. What was this? I showed the note to Casey and his face actually became white. "We have some serious problems Bartowski."

"Why?"

"Because Walker would never knowingly admit she was compromised unless she was sure it was the last chance she got."

The implication sank down and I felt a pit forming in my stomach. This couldn't be happening. "We have to save her!" I shouted and Casey nodded, before grabbing his identification.

A quick flash later we were allowed access into the surveillance room. I fast forwarded the tape to where I saw Sarah sitting down at the bar. Her hand moved towards her watch which was when she killed the feed so I didn't have to hear her flirting and I felt sick to my stomach. If I hadn't made such a big deal, we would've heard her. We would've gotten there in time. She would still be here. But she wasn't.

Lucien chatted her up before another man walked up from behind and pressed a gun into Sarah's kidneys. I didn't see her face but her posture seemed relaxed. She spoke a few more words and Lucien nodded. She reached over, grabbed a napkin and a sharpie and wrote down what she thought were her final words. And she wrote them to me.

She nodded and they all got up. Lucien draped his hand around Sarah's shoulders and I felt my entire being tense up. Casey stepped forward and popped the disc out of the drive. "You've seen enough. Let's go Bartowski."

I could only nod, speechless by what I'd seen. Sarah had been made. She had been captured. And it was all my fault. There was no way this could be happening.

I blinked and I found myself sitting in the Ford while Casey sped through the city, racing to reach Castle. We had to inform the General of what had happened. All I could do was sit and stare, unable to pronounce even a word. My mind flashed to possible scenarios. The best case scenario was that she was already dead. The worst case scenario... well, I didn't want to think about that.

We screeched into the parking lot and ran to the Orange Orange. Casey busted through the door and ran to the freezer, punched in his code and headed down to the monitors. I was hot on his heels. We reached the computers and Casey popped in the disc, before uploading its contents to General Beckman. The telltale beep came a few seconds later and the diminutive woman stared at the camera in consternation. "What is this, Major?"

"General, Walker's been taken," he simply said, not an ounce of emotion on his face.

"I... see," the woman said and I could swear that I actually saw shock playing in her eyes. "I will launch an immediate rescue operation. And Major..."

"Yes ma'am."

"Make sure the asset doesn't go on a suicide mission to bring her back."

"What?" I shouted. "Are you saying I can't be involved with this mission?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying Mr. Bartowski. Major Casey, restrain the asset."

"Casey," I breathed, but it was too late. He pounced on me and before I knew what was happening, I was bent over the table and he applied zip cuffs to me. "Casey, no!" I shouted. "We have to save Sarah!"

"I've got it from here, General."

"Very well," she said before stabbing at the keys.

I started ranting and raving. "I can't believe you're doing this, Casey! Does she mean nothing to you? Is this all convenience for you?"

"Shut the hell up, Bartowski. Semper fi. We never leave a man behind. I just had to make sure that the General thought I was following orders, otherwise we'd have an NSA strike team barreling down on us in no time." He cut my zip ties and put his hands on my shoulders.

"Now," he said, "we go find Walker."

I nodded, and fell down in the chair, her declaration of love burning a hole in my pocket and her stain blooming on my shirt.

It wasn't too late. It couldn't be.

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_There are five chapters, hope you liked the first one. Thank you for reading. Leave a review if you like it. _


	2. Anger

**A/N: **Okay, so, I figured it was kind of nonsense to take a week to post chapters I've already finished, so I'll probably end up posting every other day. For people wondering: No, I haven't changed anything. I understand that there may be some question marks as to why people choose to act the way they do and all I can say to that is that I tried to get as close to the actual characters in terms of how I think they would act when put in a situation like they have. We can agree to disagree on that point though.

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**ANGER**

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We immediately set to work trying to find a way to locate Sarah. Frantically, I looked through the computer screens, hoping to see Sarah's panic signal light up on the map in front of me. Instead, the only thing I saw was a blank map, the only sounds in the room the soft humming of the computers and me tapping away at them. Not the beeping of a panic signal. Frustration seeped into my entire being and I punched the keyboard. "Damn it, Casey! Why hasn't she hit her panic button yet?"

"Calm down, Bartowski," he replied, but the usually menacing tone was absent. Instead, he seemed one hundred percent focused on the task at hand, which made me feel infinitely better. He grabbed the keyboard and tapped on a few keys, a grid appearing over the map of the city. "So far, we know Walker's been made and we're looking for Lucien Porter. Not a lot to go on, but better than nothing," he said. Several points lit up on the map.

"What are those?" I asked.

"These," he said while tapping a few more keys. Pictures sprung up, showing warehouses, hotels and rather ordinary looking houses. "...are some of Porter's known addresses."

"That's great Casey, but what the hell does that help us? We can't print out the map, hang it on the wall and fling a pair of scissors at them, hoping to hit the exact spot where they're taking her."

"I know that, moron," he grunted. "If you'd untwist your panties for a minute we..."

"How can you tell me to be calm?" I shouted, exploding out of my chair. "Sarah's in danger and you come up with a list of over thirty locations of where they could 'possibly' be? Screw this." I grabbed my jacket and stormed up the stairs leading into the Orange Orange. I became achingly aware of the nervous ball of tension that was coiling up in my stomach. Sarah was supposed to stand there, smiling at me while suggestively licking her finger after swiping the last bit of frozen yoghurt from one of the machines. Instead... instead she got captured because of my insecurities about a relationship that wasn't real—at the time, I reminded myself. The declaration still sat snug in my pocket.

I heard pounding footsteps on the stairway and Casey burst through the freezer himself, fire in his eyes. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I'm going to take action," I replied.

He looked at me and shook his head. "Jesus, Bartowski. I know you have it bad for her but now you're just being stupid. Even if you find her and she's not..."

"Don't you say it, Casey!"

He shrugged. "Well, how are you going to bust her out, champ? Use your fists? I'm sure that the mercenaries will be more than happy to show you that bringing your fists to a gun fight equals a one way ticket off of this mortal coil."

I stood stunned for a split second. "That's the most you've ever said," I grinned. Immediately afterwards, a sobered look overcame my features when I remembered the predicament we were in. The predicament _Sarah_ was in. "So what do you suggest we do then?"

"I suggest you sit down, use your brain and find out where the most logical targets would be located for them to take Walker. In this case, we'll assume that they're going to torture her."

"You're just one big happy bubble of optimism, aren't you?"

"Can it with the sarcasm, Bartowski. No time for games now." The look in his eyes that conveyed a sense of seriousness that was above and beyond the normal level of seriousness chastised me.

"Sorry," I mumbled. "I just... I don't know what to do, Casey. I don't know what to think... I don't know how to act. What the hell am I supposed to do if someone I love is in danger and I can't help them?"

I figured he'd sneer at me, but was pleasantly surprised when he once again put his hands on my shoulders. "You figure out a way to help them. You're smart, Bartowski. Really smart. So use that to your advantage." Apparently the loss of his partner affected him more than I thought possible.

I blew out a sigh and nodded. "Okay. Let's do this." I ran back down the freezer, closely followed by Casey. I ran for the computers and took up my seat. "Considering the... predicament... that we're assuming Sarah is in..." I swallowed before continuing. "...we'll have to narrow it down to sound proofed or desolate locations. He can't risk letting someone hear her and have them call the police on it. So let's assume..." I was interrupted by my phone. I checked the display and groaned when I saw Ellie.

"Hi sis," I said when I picked up.

"Hey Chuck. I just wanted to let you know that both Devon and I are free tonight. We could go on a double date. Is Sarah there?"

"Uh... I'll have to get back to you on that sis... I think Sarah's uh... tied up at the moment and I don't know when she'll be back." Great, I'd reverted to gallows humor. I couldn't find it in myself to even smile though. Although I felt marginally better by the fact that I wasn't lying this time. I just didn't know what to think. What _was _I hoping for? The biggest part of me hoped she was killed in a painless fashion and she didn't have to withstand torture. The egotistical part of me however was what took precedence at this moment. We would find her, save her and we'd be together. I'd help her through it all.

"Chuck... are you there?" Crap, I'd zoned out.

"Uh yeah, I'm here. Look, Ellie, somethings come up and I don't know when I'll be back..." I resumed my typing on the keyboard, cross-referencing installations of complete soundproofing of homes, as well as having at least a mile radius between buildings that weren't soundproof. "I'll call you when I know more, okay? But don't count on me tonight... sorry sis."

"That's okay," she said, but she sounded a bit sad. Yet another dagger of guilt pushed into my ribs. "I'll see you later little brother."

"Bye sis," I said and I didn't need to act to sound genuinely upset. The line went dead and the moment it did, the telltale beep of the General caused me to look up like a deer in the headlights. Casey immediately stood at attention. I kept typing.

"Agent Casey, what is the meaning of this?" she bellowed.

"General, you didn't honestly expect me to sit back and do nothing while my partner was in trouble, did you?"

"So you went against a direct order of the government of the United States? That could be considered treason." The threat hung in the air, but Casey didn't back down.

"Be that as it may, you as a General should know that we never leave a man behind. Or woman, in this case. I'm simply fulfilling my duties as a servant of the military of the United States."

"I can just send a NSA strike team and put you both in the detention area," she threatened. "I will not have the asset running around on what would amount to a suicide mission."

"Ma'am, with all due respect, I would put a bullet into each and every agent that you're sending my way," Casey growled back and I flinched at the unbridled anger that was present in his tone. I'd never heard him this upset about... anything really. I doubted even the defamation of a statue of Ronald Reagan could've gotten a reaction this large. Although it'd be a close call, no doubt.

She pulled a hand over her face in frustration and in that instant, I noticed that the General looked much older, and in that instant I felt bad for all the hard times I'd given her over the years with my incessant whining and startling lack of decorum. She was simply doing her job, the same way Casey and Sarah were doing theirs. And I didn't hate Sarah. I couldn't hate Sarah. I hated her job, sure, but I could never hate the woman. So why didn't I ever extend that courtesy to the General?

"Ma'am," I started. "I was the one who roped Casey into doing this. Please don't punish him. If anything, punish me... just wait until after Sarah is safe again."

"No, Mr. Bartowski. That won't be necessary. I figured this was going to happen, considering your compromised nature with your handler."

"My uh... w—what? I'm... not compromised, don't be..."

"Mr. Bartowski, did you forget that you were in the presence of people who find things out, things that are supposed to be secret, for a living?"

"No ma'am," I said and I felt the blush overtake me.

"Major, I will send a strike team to help you with your mission. I highly suspect that you have a plan already, so I will leave that to you. And Major? Good luck."

She closed the connection and I felt like I should be stunned into silence, but instead, my fingers continued their efforts in trying to deduce where they could've possibly held Sarah.

"Bartowski, widen your search to include locations that are occupied. If we're going to look for places that are without people all the time, we'll lose time that we don't have. If we can crack one of the FULCRUM bastards, we'll be able to find out a lot more about her. We're operating under the assumption that she's alive... but..."

"But you never know," I finished and my stomach did a back-flip. I managed to keep the bile inside though.

The computer came back with the results that Casey asked for. We got twenty possible locations and I groaned. Twenty was way too much. There was no way we were going to find her in time. The worst thing was that I didn't know what it was they wanted from her. Was she just going to be used for information? Or did they have viler purposes for her? A red shroud pulled over me and I found myself rolling around in the chair, wanting to lash out at how incompetent I was being.

"Bartowski," Casey grunted. "Go blow off some steam and come back later. We can't do much until the strike team gets here. When they get here, we'll find her." I nodded and started walking away. "Bart... Chuck. I promise." I turned around and saw that Casey himself had turned away.

"Thanks," I said, before stalking off to the dojo. There was a rack with gloves lined up and I picked the pair that Sarah had worn during her last exercise. Two fingerless black gloves. It was pathetic, but it helped me feel closer to her. I stripped off my shirt, but didn't bother putting anything else on. It seemed like Casey wasn't in the mood to take potshots at me, so I figured I was safe.

I started wailing on the bag, no technique at all. I simply projected my anger on an inanimate object and tried to beat it into submission. I don't know how long I stood there, but the burn in my aching muscles intensified with every half-hearted punch I threw. My mind kept reminding me of how useless I was being. I threw a last punch before I sagged down to the ground. A grunt of annoyance caused me to look up.

"Stand up," he grunted. "Otherwise you'll get muscle cramps. Get showered and meet me at the firing range."

"Why?"

"Because if you're not going to stay in the car when we both tell you, there's no chance in hell that you're going to do it when Walker's legitimately in danger. And since I don't want to get a nice black mark on my file because I got the Intersect killed, I'd rather have you knowing at least basic firearm techniques."

I nodded. It made sense. Still, I didn't know whether I wanted to know how to shoot a person, because I wasn't sure whether or not I would end up doing just that. I gave a quick wave and walked to the locker room, before dousing my head with water. The flush of exertion was still prevalent on my face, the red blush a reminder of the uncoordinated attacks that I launched against the bag. I sprayed on some deodorant and put on my shirt, before finding my way to the firing range. Casey was already standing there, a pair of earmuffs on, as well as his protective glasses. He motioned towards the equipment that lay in front of me, an M9—Call of Duty proved helpful in regards to recognizing firearms—and my own pair of earmuffs and glasses.

He took me through the basic steps and let me practice a few times. I managed not to drop the pistol, but only just. I knew that when push came to shove, I would probably hesitate with taking a shot, but damn it, if it meant that Sarah would be safe, I wouldn't think twice about pulling the trigger.

Eventually, I got to a point where I was able to hit the target although I couldn't quite group my shots. But I figured this was more to waste time rather than actually teaching me anything. Rome wasn't built in a day after all.

I sighed and dropped the pistol. "When will they be here?"

"I don't know, Bartowski. But meet me in the dojo in five. I'll take you through some basic self defense techniques as well. Your form was terrible."

"It calmed me down though."

"I'm sure that when you're face to face with a FULCRUM agent and you start wailing on him, he'll laugh, turn around and end your miserable life. And then I'll have Walker bitching at me because I got you killed, because I never paid attention. So do both me and her a favor, get changed and meet me there."

I was torn between sticking my tongue out at him and flipping him the bird. I couldn't understand how he was so casual about Sarah's fate. In the end, I stuck my tongue out. Mostly because sometimes it was just great to regress to a small child, something which I'd never truly had the chance to do because mom and dad so conveniently chose to get up and leave me and Ellie to our own devices, but also because I figured Sarah wouldn't approve of me flipping him off.

I picked a fresh set of workout clothes from my locker and quickly stripped out of my attire. As I pulled on my shirt, I caught my own reflection in the mirror and winced. I looked like shit. There were dark bags under my eyes and I looked like I hadn't slept in a while. It was true of course, I wasn't going to fall asleep when Sarah was still out there, but it was always different to hear something and then actually witnessing it firsthand.

My legs carried me to the dojo and I saw Casey warming up already. He looked to be in peak physical shape, whereas I was more of the 'well, I could work out but I'd much rather play Call of Duty' variety. He looked at me and nodded. I stood across from him and he handed me a pair of small gloves. As I applied the Velcro straps, tightening the gloves to fit snug around my hand, I couldn't help but glance at him from the corner of my eye. The once so stoic man's face had turned gaunt, the hardened features nowhere to be found. In its place, I saw myself looking at a forty odd man who was simply tired.

"I get it," I told him.

To his credit, he immediately got what I was referring to. "No you don't. You can't. I've seen good people die, Bartowski. People I called colleagues, people I called friends. I've had to give up a hell of a lot of things for this job, and despite that, I still cared about my brothers in arms. Walker's a brother in arms and she's been taken by the enemy. And I can't do jack shit about it. So no, you don't understand."

"You think I don't?" I shouted back. "You think it's all peaches for me, sitting here, the last thing she gave me a declaration of love that I might not ever be able to reciprocate? You know what? I'm done with this." I tore at the Velcro, the ripping sound doing nothing to soothe my nerves that were shot to hell. I threw the gloves at Casey and stomped out of the room, not making it five steps before I collapsed against the wall. I needed to do something to help find her.

I couldn't do anything.

Casey stormed out of the dojo, obviously looking for me. He found me slumped against the wall, I figured I must've looked pathetic, but his steel gaze never wavered.

"We're trained for this, Bartowski. It's what we do. Walker's had her training. She knows how to tough it out."

"But what if the bad guys decide that they're bored with interrogating her? What then?"

He swallowed and didn't reply to my question. He simply said, "Sometimes, you're too smart for your own good."

"Tell me about it."

He vacantly stared at a wall for a bit, and when he shook himself out of it, he stuck out his arm. I grasped it and he hauled me upright. "The team probably won't arrive for a couple of hours. You should get some rest. I'll get you when everything is about to go down."

"You're not going to lock me up in the detention cells?"

Casey grunted, although it sounded awfully like a chuckle. "Honestly, I've thought about it. But if there's one thing that your little tryst with the traitor has taught me, it's that I shouldn't leave you alone in Castle. You either end up getting caught or hack your way out of the cell, so it would've been a moot point anyway."

I made a small noise that could pass for a laugh on a good day and walked to the cells. Casey walked after me and gave me a pillow and a cover. As I put it down, I sighed. "How am I supposed to fall asleep?"

He sat down next to me and shrugged. It amazed me how completely Casey could transform. I always thought of him as the stoic NSA agent. His image had changed slightly with the introduction of Ilsa, but it wasn't until Sarah got captured that I truly saw that he was in fact human. It was a nice change of pace, even if the circumstances were as dire as they were. "You could try thinking of your favorite day," he offered. "Remind yourself of how you woke up that day, what smells you smelled, what things you saw, all that stuff."

"Sounds like something Sarah would suggest."

The side of his lips quirked upwards. "Who do you think taught me this new-agey crap? I'd tell you to tough it out, but I know how you get your panties in a bunch when I tell you that things are the way they are, so I figured I might suggest this."

I figured I too should take a leaf from Sarah's book and rather than express myself with words, something which I so often did, I simply called out his name and nodded once. He seemed to appreciate it more than any verbal acknowledgment.

I settled under the covers and closed my eyes, my brain fervently trying to blot out the distressed thoughts of Sarah being beaten, being hurt because she was caught, being hurt because I was insecure, and instead focus on the happiest day of my life.

I remembered waking up, yawning once, something which I did pretty often. I got out of bed and pulled on my work clothes, because my dream had involved Sarah and I didn't want to give the dear Major any chance to give me any grief over. I got fruity loops, as well as a mug of coffee and ate it while reading A Feast for Crows. I held sacred, my tradition of revisiting the series every year, and I enjoyed reading a chapter every day just before going to work, as well as reading two or three after the day had ended to unwind.

All in all it had been a normal day.

Until I had flashed on a bad guy that came to pick up a laptop he had repaired. That's when I flashed on Lucien Porter.

The rest of the day was a blur. I notified the brass about the bad guy and we got the go ahead to nab him. And that's when possibly the worst event in my life had transpired.

But as I held the last note that Sarah had given me, as I devoured the words scribbled before me, and before I could connect the two dots to create the horrifying conclusion, for those two milliseconds, it was the best day of my life.

I fell asleep.

* * *

_Shorter chapter this time around, sorry. Chapter three will be on the short side as well, but chapters four and five should more than make up for it. Thanks for the reviews and alerts._


	3. Bargaining

_**Warning**__: This chapter and the next one deal with some dark issues. If you are in any way offended by these, I am sorry. I've tried to deal with them in a respectful manner, although it's hard to say whether the topics could even be dealt with approaching anything called respectful._

* * *

**Bargaining**

* * *

Warmth. It was warmth that I felt as I floated along, weightlessly. Like I was being hugged. Particularly, it felt like I was being hugged by Sarah. One of those tentative hugs that started out as cover solidification, but slowly grew until she was clinging to me in every way possible, every point of contact between her and me a searing point of warmth that shot straight through my skin, into my muscles. The kind of warmth that left me stuck between two emotions, sadness and elation. Elation because, hey, Sarah was touching me and that was reason for celebration. And sadness because I knew it couldn't ever stick. But I felt that same warmth right now, and I couldn't be happier about it. Somehow, everything was all right.

"Leave me alone," I mumbled as I heard someone calling my name. It was probably Ellie. She had a habit of being insistent like this. I felt a hand on my shoulder giving me a firm shake and I swatted at it. "Five more minutes..."

"Bartowski, the team is here."

My eyes flew open and as I felt the cold, stale air from Castle rush over me, causing the comfortable heat to evaporate, everything rushed back to me. The mission, Sarah, her declaration... her fate. I saw Casey looming over me and when he saw that I was awake, he turned and left the room. I sat up, dazed. Where did the time go? How did I even fall asleep? When Casey's—and Sarah's, by proxy—words came back to me, I couldn't help but smile. Even when she wasn't here, Sarah was looking out for me. It served to be the small point of illumination throughout the dark time that had pulled over Burbank.

I found a stack of folded clothes on a chair that was put next to the cot. As I pulled them on, I stuck my hand in the right pocket of the fresh jeans... and felt the texture of the napkin as it brushed my fingertips. It turned out that Casey could be considerate too. Who knew?

I walked out, dragging a hand over my sleep-rumpled face. It made me feel marginally better, but I felt the beginnings of a throbbing ache in my muscles. Casey was right. I did have a bad form. It would probably end up biting me in the ass now.

I didn't care.

As I walked into the main conference room of Castle, I heard a boisterous laugh echo through the confines. Confused, I turned to the source and saw a large man—did the NSA have some sort of chest to body ratio that I was unaware of, I wondered—sitting in one of the swivel chairs, looking at me and laughing. "You're... you're a spy?" he choked out. "Man, Fort Meade must've gotten desperate. What are you, like one-seventy? One-sixty?"

"One-eighty, actually," I replied, my voice full of uncertainty. It was like high school all over again. The cool jocks making fun of the nerds.

"Brett, that's enough," Casey thundered. "The kid's a better spy than anything that the NSA has ever had the good fortune of delivering. Focus now, everyone." He picked up one of the remote controls and dimmed the lights. I thought back to when Sarah gave me seduction lessons for Jill, and swallowed the lump in my throat. No one noticed.

Casey pressed a button and a list of locations appeared on the screen. "This is how it's going to go down. We'll start by clearing out all of the warehouses. We're thinking that that'll be the most logical position to keep agent Sarah Walker." Her picture appeared on the screen and the NSA agent who had ridiculed me earlier let out a wolf whistle. I shot him a death glare, but before I could say anything, Casey beat me to the punch. "Brett, what did I say earlier? And besides, you don't stand a chance. She's taken already."

"By who?" he asked. Casey pressed another button and my picture appeared next to hers. "Bullshit!" he cried out and then looked at me. "...bullshit," he sputtered again, but it had shut him up.

"Our mission is to safely return agent Walker. That is the primary objective, people. Any FULCRUM personnel should be captured for interrogation, but if capturing proves impossible, you shoot to kill. Do we understand each other?"

A chorus of Oorahs and Hooahs rung through Castle and I blew out a sigh of relief. These people were professionals. They would make sure that we would get Sarah back. They stood up from their chairs and the sounds of wheels rolling over linoleum broke through the haze that my thoughts still were. They spread out but most of them made a beeline to the armory, grabbing Kevlar vests and weapons that were about as tall as I was. It frightened the hell out of me.

I joined them and picked up a few guns.

A long rifle rested comfortably in my hands. I always thought they would be heavier, but as I slung it over my shoulder and felt the muzzle bump against the Kevlar, I banished all of my thoughts from my system and focused on the task at hand.

We reconvened in the main hall and Casey stood in front of the group, decked out like the frightening soldier that I knew he was. "Listen up people. We strike the first location hard and fast. If there are survivors, we bring them back here. We'll have three teams, team Charlie, team Oscar and team Delta..."

I couldn't stop the snort from escaping and Casey scowled at me. "What? It's not my fault that those teams together spell..."

"Shut up, Bartowski, before you contaminate us all with your nerd babble."

"Fine," I said, crossing my arms in indignation.

Casey cleared his throat. "We attack from two points, two teams in the back, one in the front. Remember people, alive if possible, but deadly force is authorized. Let's move out!"

The cacophony of affirmative shouts boomed throughout the room and was quickly followed by combat boots smashing against the floor as they all ran to the exits of the shop. Just as I was about to ask whether it wouldn't look extremely odd for eighteen men dressed in full combat gear to bound out of the Orange Orange, they veered off and ran down the halls. I followed as fast as I could, but the heavy gear weighed me down. I was panting by the time I got to a ladder I had never seen before. One by one they climbed up and through a manhole that was conveniently placed there.

When it was my turn, I clambered as fast as my limbs could carry me and saw a hand reach down. I grabbed it and was hoisted up by Brett, the same guy who had taken potshots at me. He regarded me silently, before shaking his head and walking away. "What was that about?" I asked Casey as he appeared behind me.

"Don't mind him. He knows how you feel. His wife was a reporter. They met in Afghanistan. Long story short, she was beheaded on national television."

"How do you even know that?"

"I read his file," he simply replied. I felt sick at the revelation and hurried to catch up to the departing agent. I had no idea what I was going to do, but I couldn't let the man do something to help me without offering my sincerest apologies. But before I could, Casey's hand grabbed my shoulder and shook his head. "Don't. He won't know what to do with it."

"You don't even know what I want to do."

"You're going to go there and do this disgusting thing you do that makes people like you. You're going to be all sincere and compassionate and he won't know what to do with that."

I was silent for a few seconds. "...Fine, I won't go to him," I scowled. After all this was done, I really needed to take some distance from my handlers. They could read me far too easily. I needed to keep at least a small air of mystery around me, and that wouldn't fly if they could read my every move.

Then again, maybe it would all stop mattering soon.

He shoved me forward and my legs only just caught up to the sudden movement. It wouldn't have made a good impression if I had crashed to the pavement. Warily, I looked around me, hoping that Jeff and Lester weren't going to magically appear from a dark corner like they had the tendency to do. When I thought the coast to be clear, I ran to one of the black, inconspicuous—if your version of inconspicuous was the most conspicuous vehicle in a five mile radius—vans and jumped in. Casey was only milliseconds behind me, and when he jumped in and slammed the door shut, the entire vehicle shuddered and lurched into movement.

Tense was the only word I could use to describe the atmosphere. Some people chattered, but it felt forced. Others chose to check, double-check their guns, making sure that rounds of ammunition hadn't mysteriously disappeared into thin air. I simply sat and stared straight ahead. Others gave me funny looks and I figured I must've looked damn near catatonic. But my mind wasn't on what other people thought of me. The only thing racing through my mind was the mantra that had been lodged there ever since connecting the dots the day before. I had to save Sarah.

Time had attained its frustrating quality of going too slow again. Every second felt like an eternity, bringing me both closer to her, and yet, amplifying the chance of her slipping away forever. It was a cruel juxtaposition that we found ourselves in. I noticed Casey too getting more restless by the second. But just as I felt that he might've had it and was going to complain to the driver, the van ground to a halt and a silence descended over the entire vehicle. Casey stood up.

"You know the drill men, let's move out." He pushed open the door and I put up my arm to shield my eyes from the angry glare of the sun. Despite the inconvenience, I still found my way to the door and jumped out. A flock of seagulls flew over my head and a clear blue sky, as well as the brilliant sun, bathed the abandoned warehouse in an almost serene light. The water splotched around happily and if I wasn't so on edge, I could lose myself in the tableau.

Except of course for the fact that there were roughly a dozen heavily armed men in black tactical gear, and I had a rifle that could take someone's head off, strapped to my back.

A few hand-signals later, and the group split up into two teams. I stuck to Casey like white on rice and he coordinated the attack brilliantly. At least, I think he did it brilliantly. Honestly, I had no idea what was going on, but I saw one group diverge, as Casey and I joined the other two groups. We flanked around the building and stood in front of a locked door. Casey held up his hand and everyone stopped moving.

"Team Charlie, breach and clear on my go," he whispered in his radio. My earpiece crackled to life with the affirmative response from the team. "Go," he whispered, and that's when all hell broke loose.

One of the agents kicked the door in and a flock of people stormed in the building. People were shouting and before I knew it, someone had fired the first shot and that's when Casey unleashed himself, opening up on controlled bursts. I ran for my life and dove behind cover, a stack of pallets, while hastily grabbing the rifle I had forgotten to get from my back. As I pulled out the stock, bullets started splintering pallets next to me. I screamed, but my shouts of terror were drowned out by the noises that were amplified by the otherwise rather abandoned warehouse. Apparently though, it was still important enough for FULCRUM to guard, considering the surprisingly large amount of guards. Of course, I'd already gotten the heat scans, but I figured at least some of them would legitimately be harbor personnel. I was wrong.

A heavy sounding 'Oof,' shook me from my inner musings and I saw one of the good guys drop next to me. He'd been hit. My mind went blank and I ran from my cover to drag him behind it as well. Bullets whizzed by my head and despite the fact that I was wearing a helmet, I could feel the terror begin to manifest itself through perspiration. Drops of sweat slid down my neck, but despite my almost instinctual need to curl up in the fetal position and softly weep, I managed to drag him behind cover.

"Are you okay?" I shouted. The man looked at me and nodded once. The Kevlar had done its job. It seemed that FULCRUM hadn't invested in armor piercing rounds. I was kind of glad about that. I grabbed my rifle and started spraying bullets blindly over the pallets. I had no idea whether I actually hit someone, but really, it wasn't important. I heard someone scream in the direction that I was shooting at, and as my mind instantly threw up objections, shouting at me that I had probably hurt or even worse, killed someone, I couldn't find it in me to care.

The gunfire slowly ground to a halt and instead, shouts were heard. Slowly, I peeked over the pallets and saw that most of the people in combat gear were still standing. Casey, who had opted to simply wear a pair of sunglasses in lieu of a helmet, was applying zip cuffs to a few of the combatants. I looked around and saw that somehow, after my rather manly screaming jag, and the pure pants-wetting terror that was accompanied with dragging a comrade to cover, the fight seemed over. I meekly stood up, strapped the rifle to my back once more, dusted myself off and walked over.

"Well, that went well," I said. I felt that I had done a good job of keeping the quiver out of my voice.

Casey gave me the once over. "Any extra orifices that I need to know about, Bartowski?"

"Uh, no, I'm good. I think."

"Good. Walker would skin me alive if she found out what I'm letting you do." He shoved one of the prisoners to one of the other guys decked out in combat gear and turned towards me. "And for the record, she will never find out that you came along. For all she knows, you were stuck in the van. Got it?" The 'moron' at the end of his sentence was heavily implied.

"Yeah, I got it," I shrugged. A tiny part of me, the one that was infatuated with action movies the likes of James Bond and Rambo, felt like a complete badass.

The larger part of me just wanted to crawl under the covers and hide. Still, we weren't done yet. Sarah still wasn't back where she belonged. There was work to do. "Let's go," I said and I grabbed one of the prisoners and hauled him back to the van, which would now double as prisoner transport.

The teams started hauling the rest of the prisoners with them, throwing them in the vans. Five minutes later and we were back on the road, to return to Castle. Black burlap bags were placed over the prisoners' heads, and my expression instantly changed, going from hardened NSA agent, to asset-way-in-over-his-head. Casey saw it and grunted, but kept quiet. I couldn't help but be thankful for that.

It was a study in logistics to get the prisoners within Castle without anyone seeing us. We had to time our runs, and for all intents and purposes, the prisoners were being hauled into a fireman's carry, as the agents dashed across the open parking space. When we finally had all of the prisoners in separate holding cells—Castle had a surprising amount of them; more than I had figured there would be—the NSA agents tipped their proverbial hats and left the premise. Casey called for me and when I caught up to him, he was already standing at attention. The General had appeared on the screen. I sidled up next to Casey and put my hands behind my back. My back went a tad straighter out of its own accord.

"Mr. Bartowski..." she started. "Major Casey, you've done well. However, due to the... nature... of the interrogations that we will be applying, as well as the people involved in this particular matter, I thought it best to send someone who is about as effective and prolific as agent Casey in this particular skill. He should be arriving right about now." The freezer door slid open and I couldn't believe my eyes. Out of everyone around, it had to be _him_.

"Hi guys... miss me?" he asked, flashing that winning smile of his.

"Bryce?" I bellowed."You're the one they sent?"

"Of course," he said with that cheeky grin of his. "Can't have my best gal die on me, now can I?"

I felt rage boiling inside of me. How dare he refer to her as that? She'd made clear who she preferred right? Still, I couldn't fight with him over that. I simply thrust the napkin at him. "This is the last time we've heard from her. Times have changed, Bryce," I said with a deceptively calm voice.

He took the napkin from me, inspected it, peered at it, smelled it—which looked really weird—and finally smiled. "My apologies. Can't have _your_ best gal die on me, now can I?"

I stood shell-shocked. "Really? You're not in this for some kind of crazy scheme to whisk her away from us on some kind of exotic mission?"

He shrugged. "Not really. Well, I mean, I do have an exotic mission, but it's not like I can kidnap her and force her to be with me. And if she wrote that as what she thought were her last words, then I doubt I'm going to have a big chance at getting her back. Besides..." His face fell and it was a look I hadn't often seen from him. He looked downright depressed. I imagined it was the same way I looked at the moment. It seemed that Casey was the only one who really looked stoic at the moment. "...if you're correct in your assumptions, then she'll be inactive for at least six weeks anyway, more depending on her... circumstances."

A chill ran down my spine. I'd done a good job of blocking those thoughts out, even though they were always in the back of my mind, but having someone say it outright unnerved the hell out of me.

"Are we done with the sentimental get-together?" Casey grunted. "We've got work to do."

"Lead the way, big man," Bryce grinned. Not a trace of the melancholy that had played on his face was visible.

We walked through the bowels of the base once more and my feet found the route on autopilot. The layout made a surprising amount of sense, considering its size. We stopped in front of the interrogation rooms. It was basically a carbon copy of the rooms you would see on TV. A metal desk, with metal chairs and a two way mirror. A lone camera hung in the corner of the room, the red circle flickering, always reminding the people inside that _they _were watching. A harsh fluorescent lamp bathed the room in light. All it was missing was a nice metal sign that said, 'Abandon hope, all ye who enter here,' for it to be a perfect chrome rendition of Hell.

"Here we are," I said with a flourish of the arm.

Bryce grinned, but kept quiet. Casey shook his head and left, muttering under his breath. It sounded mean, but, like the Germans, that was just the way he spoke. I stuck my hands in my pockets and had to do my best to not start shuffling my feet on the spot. Bryce just regarded me, silently. Finally, he broke the silence. "So, how have you been?"

"Oh, you know," I replied. "Arrest a terrorist here, scream my lungs out there, the usual really. Oh, and I got myself kidnapped a few times, so that's always fun. And now I'm desperately trying to save the woman I love, hoping beyond hope that she's not dead. So, I've been better."

"You do know I never wanted this for you, right? I never wanted to send the Intersect to you, but I was in a tough spot. I didn't know who else could keep it safe. No one else has ever earned my trust as much as you have."

"I know," I sighed. "It's just... you know?" It was one of the first times in my life that I didn't know what to say. The jumble of emotions proved to make it impossible for me to find a definitive answer to the silent question. Maybe later.

Casey walked back, leading two prisoners to separate rooms. When he walked out of the first room, Bryce turned to me. He whispered, "Here's what we're going to do. Good cop, bad cop routine. You go in first, see how willing he is to talk. If he proves unresponsive, I'll go in and well... do what I do best."

A surge of warmth spread in me. I recognized that tone. It was always there when Bryce and I would code something. We'd bounce ideas off of each other, before we made a game-plan and he'd get the same tone in his voice. Those often led to all night sessions where we'd consume a copious amount of junk food, an unhealthy amount of soda and it would end up with us looking disheveled and exhausted, but still attending the morning seminars. It was epic.

To see him use that same tone when talking about violence was sickening and great at the same time. If anyone would find out where she was, it would be Bryce. I nodded and walked in as Casey walked out of the second room. I nodded and he simply regarded me for a couple of seconds before shrugging and leaving. I steeled my nerves and entered the door.

Slowly, I circled the guy, a friendly smile on my face. I just hoped that he couldn't see how incredibly forced it was. When I completed my customary lap, I slapped an empty manila folder on the table, and sat down.

"Hi, my name is Charles Carmichael." He simply looked at me. What was up with everyone giving me the silent treatment today? "I see you're in no mood to talk, Mr..." The silence persisted. "Look, I'm trying to throw you a bone here. We've got you dead to rights in a sting of a known FULCRUM warehouse. That's treason. At best, you'll be looking at a supermax for the rest of your natural-born life. Let me help you."

The blank stare told me all I needed to know. I shrugged and stood up. The scraping of my chair over the floor was amplified, and I felt it sounded like finality, but it didn't faze the man. He looked calm, smug even. "Well, I tried my best. The rest is out of my hands now."

"Nice good cop, bad cop routine you've got going on here," he said and his voice sounded gravely, like it hadn't been used for quite some time. Or like there was sandpaper stuck in his throat. Somehow, I wouldn't put it past Casey to have actually done just that. And as I walked out, I couldn't help it. It would've been an insult to my nerd credit if I didn't do it.

"Not quite," I said, doing my best Gary Oldman impression.

I walked out and Bryce walked in carrying a big black bag, the smug grin on his face once more. He looked cool, collected, coifed. His eyes were focused and sharp. They held the same intensity that I had so often seen in Sarah, and it made total sense to me that those two were destined to hook up. A small voice in my head however, whispered that I was the only one that really got to _know_ Sarah. And she had given herself to me. Maybe not in a physical way, like she had with Bryce, but definitely in an emotional way. And it was worth all the effort that I had put into it, despite giving up hope a few times along the way. I just really hoped that I could enjoy the fruits of my labor, hopefully for the rest of my life.

He stopped me in the doorway and whispered, "You might not want to look."

"No," I replied. "I have to... I need to know."

Bryce sighed. "Fine... just... just know that it's not really _me_ in there, okay? I'm still the same Bryce from college."

I nodded. He was trying to save Sarah. I couldn't hold anything against him. Besides, the one thing I had against him, Stanford, I had forgiven him for. It took some time, but I found myself hating him less and less for it. And he was responsible for sending me Sarah after all, so it wasn't like I could complain.

"By the way, dude... nice job on the Dark Knight quote!"

"I know, right?" I laughed. "I couldn't not."

"You totally nailed it man." He shook his head in amusement, before completely dropping any facial expression and striding into the room. He greeted the bastard with a curt nod before dropping the bag on the little table that was positioned against our mirrored wall and pulling out a plethora of torture equipment. He walked back over and before my mind fully processed what he had planned, he pulled out a bowie knife and slammed it through the back of the guy's hand, impaling him to the table. The man groaned, but otherwise didn't show any sign of pain in the slightest. I shuddered as I imagined how he had to get at a point where a knife skewering his hand wouldn't cause him to have a facial expression at all.

"Hi, I'm Agent Larkin, and I'll be your bad cop today. How are we feeling today, mr...?"

"Fuck you!" he spat.

"Mr. Fuk-Yoo? That's odd, you don't seem Asian. Oh well, what do I know, right?" He grinned again. My brain screamed at me to avert my eyes, but I couldn't tear them away, no matter how hard I tried. This must've been what looking at a train-wreck was like.

He circled the table and positioned himself behind the guy. "You know... it's not me that you should be worried about. My friend who just left... he's the one that has the most to lose here. I'm simply acting on his behalf. And you know, I screwed him over big time in college. So it's only fair that I shield him from the fancy techniques that the CIA teaches its students to extract information. However, the bad news is that I aced those classes. So let's get one thing clear. You _will_ talk. Why make it harder?"

The man laughed. "Please. You can't do shit. What do you think happens at FULCRUM? Do you think we all just play monopoly all day? We've perfected the CIA and NSA their secrets. All your studying, all your books, all your teachers, it's all obsolete."

"Big words for someone who's about to feel the worst pain he's ever felt in his life. I wonder how much faith you'll have in your organization when you're squirming in pain." He pulled out a complicated looking weapon and carefully slid next to the guy. He brought it up and looked poised to strike. I closed my eyes, waiting for the inevitable scream of pain, but none of the sort happened. Bryce's hand flew to his ear. "What? Really? That's great. Well done, Casey." What the hell? I didn't knew he had an earwig. "Your buddy just cracked. He says she's still alive. Guess that means we have no more use for you." He stood up and walked over to the ammonia, grabbed a syringe and plunged it into the bottle, withdrawing a healthy dose. A big part of me wanted to turn away. I didn't want to see a man die by being burned from the inside. But the twisted part of me, that had admittedly grown a tad larger ever since Sarah was taken, wanted to see it through to the bitter end. To know that the bastards who were hurting her—I refused to believe she was dead—would get justice served.

I saw the man struggling, trying to break free, but the knife wouldn't budge in the slightest. Panic appeared in his eyes. "Please, no! Don't!"

"Sorry," he said, but he didn't sound sorry in the least. Just as he plunged the needle in the guy's neck, his hand flew to his ear again. "What's that? Are you sure? Damn..." He turned to the guy. "Guess you're in luck, Mr. Yoo. It turns out that my partner's friend didn't know where she was. Now he's no longer with us. Do _you_ happen to know where she is? It could save your life, you know."

The man started blubbering then, the needle jiggling along. Between sobs he managed to tell us where she was, an abandoned warehouse along the waterside of L.A. I wrote down the location for cross-referencing. I knocked on the window and sprinted to the door. Bryce came out and there was a crazed look in his eyes. I ignored it. "Bryce, I'm going to see if this warehouse is on the properties list. Give me two minutes!" I sprinted away and ran up to the computer. Finding the warehouse took all of twenty seconds. The cross-reference took ten. Thirty seconds later, I knocked on the door again. He opened and I simply nodded. He nodded back and I went back to the window.

"Well, it seems your story so far checks out. Did you happen to know what's going on there?"

"I don't know, I swear! I heard muffled screams and punches. I don't know! But Mr. Porter is fucking twisted! For all I know, he could be raping her."

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my skin hard enough to draw blood. Those animals were raping her? I had to find a way to calm down or lash out, otherwise my blood pressure would be the death of me. But my breathing exercises refused to work. I grabbed the chair that was sat parallel to the window and flung it at the wall, putting all my frustration and anger into the throw, a shout of rage tearing through the deserted little room. When the cloud of plaster cleared, I saw a massive dent in the wall. The anger was still there. I turned back and I saw Bryce looking at the window, quirking an eyebrow. I shrugged, only to realize he couldn't see me. But after a couple of seconds he walked up to the window and said, "It's up to you. Once and it's over. Twice and he lives."

He deserved to die, if not for actively partaking, at least for even knowing about it. I was going to knock once, sign his death warrant. Judge, jury and executioner. Sarah deserved nothing less.

I knocked twice, thoughts about Sarah and what she would say if she knew what I did playing through my head, and Bryce nodded. "Guess you get to live. We'll deliver you to the authorities when this is all over. For now, you get to go to sleep." He threw a vicious jab that connected with the man's temple, knocking him out instantly. He slumped over at an awkward angle, the knife sticking out of his hand like an R-rated version of Excalibur.

Instead of the happy-go-lucky guy that I used to know, a shell of a man walked out. His features were hardened, and it looked like he had lost weight in the five minutes that he was in there. He looked positively frightened. And then, a second later, it was gone again. The normal face of Bryce Larkin returned.

"I didn't know you had an earpiece," I remarked.

"I don't," he smiled back.

"You bluffed?"

"Of course. Prisoners' dilemma."

"That's... I would say it's really devious, but I guess that sounds a bit too negative considering you probably just saved Sarah's life."

"Devious is good," he smirked. "I like it."

"Look, Bryce, about Stanford."

"Dude, don't. You have every right to hate me and I don't expect you to forgive me. Just make sure she's alright. And if she is, invite me to the wedding, will ya?"

I grinned. "I'll one-up you," I said, before pulling him into a hug. He patted my back a few times and when I stepped back, the mask had completely disappeared. No longer was I looking at agent Larkin, CIA superspy. Rather, I was looking at Bryce Larkin, my one time best friend. It was good to have him back, even though Morgan had taken over the torch that Bryce had carried. As I released him, he smiled.

"Thanks. Although Lord knows this is more than I deserve. Now let's go get her."

I nodded and as Bryce headed to get Casey, I walked to Castle's locker rooms and picked up some clothes for Sarah. With a spot of luck she'd still be wearing the dress. If what the guy had said was true, then... well, I didn't want to think about that. I was still in my black gear that I was wearing for the initial assault, and I didn't see myself shrugging out of it any time soon. I reapplied the Kevlar vest as Casey came bounding into the room.

"Heard Pretty-boy got him to crack."

"Yup."

He tapped a few commands out on the keyboard and the monitors flickered to life, the emotionless face of General Diane Beckman filling the room once more. As Casey informed her of the status update, I stood at attention, fidgeting with everything that my seemingly restless fingers could find. After what felt like an hour of constant babbling between the two of them, the General finally gave the okay on a rescue operation. Ten minutes later, the strike team had reconvened into Castle.

He briefed them and they ran to the same manhole we had come through earlier today. Except this time, we had a definite destination in mind. We were going to save Sarah. I strapped the same rifle I had used in the initial raid to my back, and holstered a tranquilizer pistol. I wanted the son of a bitch who had orchestrated the whole thing to be handed over to Casey. He'd know what to do with him.

It was about a thirty minute drive to the warehouse and I spent it in silence. Casey and Bryce sat together, discussing tactics. I would have never believed that someone who had been shot and the person who shot him, could sit together like this. But, I supposed, times like these brought a unison in people. A common goal. Bryce kept shooting me concerned glances but refused to say anything to me. I simply sat, staring straight ahead of me, my hand tightened around the assault rifle.

It was a repeat of earlier that day. Tense conversations, nervous habits and a suffocating atmosphere hung around the van as it navigated the streets of Los Angeles. My other hand was gripping and releasing the clothes I had brought for her. I made sure that they were all of the baggy variety. So that there wouldn't be any pressure on the inevitable wounds. I blew out a breath and placed them in a backpack that I strapped to my back. The rifle was discarded across my lap.

Finally the van stopped moving and we all piled out. The tension that I had felt was still there, but it only served to make my moves more graceful. The steps became measured and precise. The team circled around Casey, who started handing out instructions.

"This is the real deal people. No funny business now. You have the same rules of engagement as earlier today. If you see this man..." he held up a picture of Lucien Porter, "you do _not_ shoot to kill. Non-lethal shots only." The Hooahs and Ooahs chorused again, although this time they were whispered. The teams took their usual positions, as luck would have it the layout to the warehouse was almost identical. And, as Casey counted down, I gripped my rifle just a bit tighter.

_Please just be alive_, I found myself begging. Casey reached zero and we busted in. Six men ran in, followed by Casey and me, while I was flanked by Bryce.

"FBI," Casey shouted. "Drop your weapons!" The idea was that we would pose as the Feds, which would give us some one-on-one time with the eventual prisoners before handing them over to the actual FBI who would then take care of the rest. Of course, FULCRUM didn't need to know that. The shouts led to the sounds of bullets being racked into chambers and I yelped, before diving away. Bryce followed suit and the two teams that had busted through the main door scattered. The back door was breached and another team of six ran in as all hell broke loose.

"Keep an eye out for Porter," Bryce shouted. I nodded and began scanning the area, occasionally unleashing a short burst from my rifle into the void.

A door to my left opened and Lucien Porter walked out, still fastening his pants. As I saw his hands button up his jeans, something in my mind snapped and I jumped up. I didn't care about the bullets, all I cared about was capturing the son of a bitch. I dropped the rifle and my hand flew to my side. I picked up the tranquilizer pistol and before he knew what happened, I had pumped four of the offending darts in various parts of his body. His eyes locked with mine for a split second, before they rolled back into his head and he crashed to the floor. His head bounced off of the concrete with a sickening thud, but I stood frozen to the spot. In the milliseconds where our eyes had crossed, I could've sworn I had seen the devil.

The sound of a bee buzzing next to my ear caused me to blink back to reality. It wasn't until I dove down that it hit me that the bee wasn't a bee, but rather a stray bullet that had almost clipped me in the head. "Shit!" I shouted before joining Bryce on the floor. A set of girders separated us from the main loading hall, where gunshots still echoed. Bryce was taking potshots at FULCRUM members, but they had pegged us as soon as we sprung for cover. The return fire was scarily accurate. Bryce was mumbling something as he continued to peek around the edges and firing a couple of shots. I joined in by blind-firing my way through a magazine. The click-click of an empty magazine was amplified however, by the sudden silence.

"Clear!" I heard people shouting.

I sat for a moment, staring blindly into space, before my mind kicked into gear. "Sarah!" I shouted and stood up. I ran to the door where the limp body of Porter still lay next to, and burst through. The room was dark and musky. The scent of sweat and bodily fluids hung in the air and I had to blink a couple of times before my eyes had adjusted to the lack of light. And that's when I saw her.

"Sarah," I breathed in horror.

* * *

_Chapter was a lot longer than I envisioned at first. Oh well, profit! Also, I see there are a lot of recent fics which have embraced the fact that Bryce Larkin isn't the Devil incarnate. This pleases me. If anyone is wondering, I modelled this Bryce after the one we got to see in vs. the Ring, where he does finally admit defeat to Chuck with regards to Sarah, and is content with it._


	4. Depression

**A/N: **This is a combination of the earlier two chapters, considering the fact that they originally belonged together anyway.

* * *

**DEPRESSION**

* * *

I stumbled forward, inching closer towards her with each step. She had been tortured before, I figured. But that didn't lessen my reaction to seeing her broken body—stripped of her clothes and hung up like cattle—in the slightest. Bruises and cuts varying in depth and severity were all over her body and her face was caked with dried up blood. But her chest was rising and falling. It all hit me at once, and I rushed towards her, unhooked her from the wall and cradled her while softly sobbing. Whether it was from relief or anguish, I couldn't tell.

I held her tight to me, rocked back and forth and whispered, "You're okay now, nothing will hurt you anymore, I love you," kept on whispering even when Casey put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed once. His version of showing he actually did care for his partners. In the back of my mind, a voice told me that they weren't allowed to see handler and asset so compromised. I didn't care. Casey already knew, anyway. There was not a chance in hell that I was going to waste another second of our precarious lives where she wasn't going to know how I felt, each and every day.

My sobs eventually died down, I couldn't tell how much time had passed. And when I looked down at the most precious bundle I've ever held, a pair of blue eyes was looking back up at me. "I didn't talk," she whispered, her voice ragged. "I didn't talk." I could see the tears that she was trying to keep at bay, pooling up in the corners. I softly thumbed her cheek, letting her know it was okay and that if she wanted to cry, she was more than allowed to. She burrowed her head against my chest and did, all the while keeping up her mantra of assuring me she didn't talk. Casey walked up, but I looked at him while softly stroking her naked back and minutely shook my head once. He got the message and backed off.

"What happened to him?" I asked as he retreated, my voice hoarse while not knowing whether it was due to the fact that I hadn't uttered a word for the past hour except for the sudden shout, or because my throat was parched from crying myself.

"It's been taken care of," he replied and that was all I needed to know.

"Good," I said, before pressing a kiss into the crown of her hair. He left me to it, as Sarah's sobs and small squeaks of pain and anguish continued to cut through the otherwise silent room, every sniffle a reminder of what I failed to protect... of what we all failed to protect. Of the things that we took for granted. And I promised to myself that if I ever heard General Beckman utter the words 'occupational hazard' in relation to the events that had transpired these past few days, I would personally put a bullet between her eyes. I figured she wouldn't though. For the first time since I'd known her, she had acted like a human being.

Between sobs Sarah managed to tell me what happened. How those barbaric people had treated the most amazing woman I'd ever known. They'd beaten her, demeaned her and violated her. And how she never talked. They had reduced the strongest woman I'd ever known into a shell of a human being. I felt my stomach lurch and my heart break when I heard about what she had to endure. And I realized how blind I truly was, how blind I had been. How everything that was bad in the world had always been partially shielded from me by both her and Casey. I thought I had seen the depravity of mankind, but it wasn't until I looked down on those big blue eyes, that beautiful face with bruises all over, the unshed tears fresh in her eyes that it truly hit me. And as the tears prickled in my own, as I fought to keep a brave face to not let her see how her pain affected me, she continued with a little voice about the hell that she was thrust in.

She managed to tell me that the only thing that had kept her going was thinking of me, how I was the only reason she was still alive and somewhat sane, and in response I clutched her tighter. She told me she loved me and I let her speak, I didn't offer anything in return. She didn't want me to, anyway.

It seemed as if the tears had simply dried up as she softly admitted to reaching her climax while they did unspeakable things to her. Her eyes fell down to the ground, her body so small and tucked in on itself that if someone were to walk in, they'd never be able to tell that they were dealing with a strong independent woman. I put my fingers under her chin and lifted it, her eyes locking with mine. And that's when I saw that her eyes, which used to beam with hope, now only stared in remorse.

"It's okay," I whispered. "It's okay, Sarah. You don't have to be ashamed of that. It's not your fault. Nothing's your fault." I pulled her closer, afraid to let go, and I looked past her, to the room where she was held. The horrible smell assaulted my nose once more and I had to make a conscious effort not to gag.

When she had said everything she wanted to say, and spilled the tears that she had allowed herself to spill, I told her we were done. We would resign in the morning, I didn't care whether I was the Intersect and she, one of the finest agents the Intelligence community had ever seen. We were done, and that was final. I'd still do the dailies and flash on Intel, but we weren't going into the field anymore. My time would be devoted to her and making sure she got over this, getting as much support from me as I could possibly give. She managed a small nod, before I lifted her up and carried her to the SUV. The cleanup crew gave me sympathetic looks, but I ignored them, my attention wholly focused on Sarah. I reached the SUV and gently sat her down before I gave her the backpack, and closed the door so she had time to dress herself. After five minutes, I opened the door and sat down myself, seeing her dressed in a t-shirt, some pants and my Buy More jacket. She immediately lunged for me again, and when her head found my chest, I felt fresh tears soak into my t-shirt.

I did the only thing I could. I whispered reassuring words to her and promised myself that no one would ever in their entire life be allowed to harm her again.

The drive back was torturous for me. I just wanted to put her into a bed and give her some much needed rest, but time seemed to slow down to a crawl. Every bump caused a little hitch in her breathing and a small whimper and I felt my blood boil. I wanted to lash out at someone, make them feel the same pain that they had put her through but I couldn't. At least I knew that with Casey in charge of the men who did this, they would meet their fate soon enough, but not until enough pain had been inflicted. To me though, it wouldn't ever stop being enough. They deserved every bit of torture that Casey was going to inflict on them.

My own thoughts disturbed me and I had to shake myself out of the destructive pattern that it was following. I usually wasn't this vengeful, but as I looked upon her hair, her face still buried in my shirt, I couldn't help but wonder what I would do if I was allowed even five minutes with them. Idly, I wondered whether I would be even more vengeful if it involved my own family, but I realized that even if she hadn't thought of me like that before—although with her declaration from an hour ago, and the napkin from at the bar, I was pretty sure it was a moot point anyway—I had always thought of Sarah as family. If not as my girlfriend, or at least the times where I pretended she could be my girlfriend, at least as my confidant.

"What's the matter?" an impossibly small voice asked me and I shook my head.

"I just... I just want to hurt them, Sarah. I want to kill them for what they've done to you."

She didn't know how to respond to that, and truth be told, I didn't know what I was going to add to that either. All I knew was that I meant every last word.

We reached the hospital and I carried her out, through the doors of the white, imposing building. I walked up to the desk and waited. Eventually, a woman in her mid thirties strode out, took one look at me and rushed to the desk. "What can I do for you, sir?" she asked, her voice sounding practiced, but her eyes betraying her readiness, ready to make whatever call was necessary.

"She's been tortured," was all I said. "And whatever you do, do not get a male doctor. Trust me on that."

She immediately rushed to page a doctor and started pulling up admission forms and all other kinds of forms. "I'll take care of those later," I told her, my voice hardened. Not just for myself, but for Sarah too. "Just get her in a room and take care of her... please?" My voice lost its edge as I almost begged her to make sure Sarah was alright. She nodded and set to work.

I never strayed from her bedside as she lay there, her entire body covered in gauze. The wounds had been tended to and the doctor had given me a few dirty looks. I thought that they had called the police at one point, but an equally fast phone call from me to General Beckman made sure we were undisturbed. She also told the police to back off the investigation. The government of the United States would take care of that.

Sarah spent the night in the hospital. The doctors had started her on an IV to counteract any possible infections and even though I hated needles with a passion, I swallowed my distaste so I could hold her hand. After the phone call from the General had cleared the air, the staff began to treat me better. They even offered me a cot in which I could sleep, which I graciously accepted. When Sarah woke up, she seemed to be in pain, but didn't say a word. And when the doctors checked her wounds and said that she was fit to go, I helped her get dressed, while shielding my eyes as much as possible. Because even though I had plenty of guilty moments where I drew in the unknown myself and I was dying to know, her comfort still trumped any of my desires.

She sat down in the wheelchair and scowled at me. I smiled. "Hospital rules. Nothing we can do about it." A tiny smile, laced with sadness, covered her face. I stroked her cheek, before pushing her to the black SUV that was waiting for us outside. I helped her in the car, and the driver took the wheelchair back as I clambered in behind her. And, like before, the moment I had buckled my seatbelt, she slid next to me and grasped my arm. I loosened her hold on me, but before she could display any emotions of hurt or rejection, I drew my arm across her, and drew her closer. She sighed and my fingers lazily raked through her tresses and I lost track of time, my entire being filled with her and her every need.

We rolled up to Maison23, but when she noticed where we were, she shook her head with fear in her eyes, and I relayed her message. Echo Park would be our destination. The driver nodded and turned the car around.

I continued to stroke her hair softly, combining the soft ministrations with words of encouragement that I didn't believe myself. I knew she had gone through hell. She had survived, but at what cost? I didn't dare to think about what this had done to her psyche. It took a while, but finally, we reached the last corner and stopped in front of the apartment complex. I stepped out and Sarah clung to me like a barnacle. I saw the desperation on her face, desperate to maintain contact with one of the only men that she could still stomach seeing at this point in time, and I stomped on the urge to go back to Castle, or wherever the hell any of the remaining men involved with this were, and finishing the job myself.

As we approached the courtyard, I felt her grip on my shoulder tighten even more, and I saw her hesitation. "Don't worry," I told her. "Ellie isn't here." She nodded her thanks, but regardless of my knowledge, I didn't want to take any chances, so I guided her through the Morgan door. I saw her struggling, her usual grace that bordered on being feline replaced with grunts of exertion and small squeaks of pain. My fists clenched on their own accord, but I couldn't help her. This was one of those things she wanted to do herself. To prove to herself that they hadn't broken her. So I stood by, watched as she finally clambered through after what felt like minutes had passed, before climbing through myself. She limped her way to the bed and settled on the covers, exhaustion painted on her features.

I walked through the room and grabbed my chair, which I set at the foot of the bed. When I looked up, Sarah's eyes were closed and her breathing had evened out. I quickly went to the bathroom, preparing myself for a night of staying awake, watching her sleep and making sure that she was in as little discomfort as possible. But when I finished my business a shriek emanated from my room. I ran back, still fastening my pants as I burst through the door. I saw her thrashing wildly, screaming in a language I'd never heard before. "Sarah!" I called out, but she didn't respond. I moved my hand and shook her shoulder, which had the desired effect. Her eyes flew open and grabbed my wrist, before turning around at a speed I had never witnessed before. She flipped me over and wrenched my arm behind my back while she sat on my lower back.

"I told you I'd fucking kill you!" she screamed, and I felt the rage emanating from her body, coursing through the clothes that she hadn't shrugged out of yet, and straight through mine, scalding my skin. I moaned in pain as I felt flames shooting through my wrist. The awkward angle in which it was held served to make me see white sparks at the edge of my vision, and it got her to snap her out of her state between sleep and wakefulness. "Chuck," she breathed as she crawled off me, and her tone was reminiscent of a child, caught with its hand in the cookie jar. I felt my heart break for her as I turned around and found her looking like she wanted to curl up into a ball and cry. She stared back at me in pure terror and sorrow. The tears that pooled in her sapphire orbs proved to be my own undoing and as I lovingly stroked the wisps of hair out of her face with the hand that wasn't injured, I felt the tears that I had valiantly tried to hold in, break free of their confines.

"I'm so sorry," I said, my voice breaking.

She put her hand on mine and looked at me with a curious glance, maybe trying to ascertain my motive. It hurt me that she couldn't trust anymore. It was already ridiculously hard for her to trust at first; it was only going to get harder now. "No, I'm the one that should be sorry," she said. "This is a part of the job that you weren't supposed to know about."

Even when beaten and broken, she still tried to keep me safe. Safe from myself and safe from knowledge that could taint me further. I wasn't sure whether I could love her any more than I did at that point. "Not this," I replied. "How can this possibly be a part of the job, Sarah?"

"It just is, okay?" she spat, and immediately her eyes went wide. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

I shushed her and gently pushed her back to my bed. "You..." I started and I made sure that she was looking at me, "have nothing to be sorry about. So stop thinking that you do. If you want to lash out? Lash out. If you want me to go, tell me, and I'll leave."

"Please don't go," she quickly said, her eyes widening even further. Her voice was pleading. "Please stay with me."

"I'm not going anywhere," I promised and slid in next to her. She intertwined herself with me and I felt her shaking in terror, and not for the last time I found myself wishing that I could leave her alone for an hour or so, just so I could end the miserable lives of those responsible. But that would mean leaving Sarah and I just didn't see that happening. Not for the foreseeable future anyway.

She quickly fell asleep, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Occasional shocks would pass through her body and she often moaned, but I figured this was a normal reaction after what she went through. How was I supposed to know? Better yet, what was I supposed to do? There were only two things I knew with absolute certainty. We were done with the spy life, and no one would ever touch her again, under penalty of death. Casey would see to that, and I couldn't be more grateful to him for it.

It occurred to me, as we laid on my bed completely tangled up in each other, that we needed to clean the wounds again. I woke her up by softly speaking to her. Her eyes fluttered open and she regarded me with weary eyes. "Sorry Sarah, but I wanted to clean your wounds before you went to sleep. I'll be right back." I pressed a kiss to her forehead and gently laid her down on bed, before dashing to the bathroom. I picked up the first aid kit and sprinted back. She lay on my bed and her eyes were focused on the door. Her muscles seemed tense, as if preparing for someone attacking her. Her eyes softened when she saw it was me and I set to work. Gingerly, I lifted her T-shirt, until the bottom of her breasts, dabbing iodine on the various cuts and bruises that were prominent on her stomach and back, before sticking band-aids or gauze over them. Sharp intakes of breath were the only affirmation I got that she was still in pain.

I finished my work and slowly pulled the T-shirt down again. She sighed and sank back on the mattress. Instead of crawling in with her, like my mind told me to, I sat down in the chair and was content simply to observe her.

"You not coming?" she mumbled, her voice heavy with sleep.

"No, I'm going to stay awake in case you need anything. Just go to sleep, sweetheart."

She shifted and gasped in pain, but there was a tiny smile on her face. "I like the endearments," she mumbled before succumbing to sleep. I stood up and turned off the light before returning to the chair and once again being left alone with my thoughts. I couldn't tell how much time passed, simply listening to the rhythmic breathing of her, as well as the occasional hitch or whimper. All I knew was that she was alive and that despite the horrors she had endured, I'd make sure she would get better.

The distinctive sound of a key entering the lock shook me out of my trance-like state. And I knew that I would have to update Ellie on what had transpired. Because if it wasn't now, then she'd surely find out at the worst possible moment, and Sarah was going to have it hard enough already. No one would be able to come out of a situation like hers without any trauma.

I tiptoed my way to the door and opened it. The light from the hallway briefly illuminated Sarah's sleeping face and the worry lines that should've been absent were still there. Even in sleep, she couldn't find any peace. I blew out a sigh and walked out before softly closing the door and making my way over to Ellie, who was bend over in the fridge. She stood up when she heard my shuffling feet over the hardwood floor.

"Hey little brother," she chirped happily. Black bags hung under her eyes. "What's been going on in the land of the living since..." she trailed off and looked at her watch. "...two days ago?" She blinked once and then asked, "What's wrong?"

"Something horrible happened," I said. "And I need you to turn off every instinct you are sure to get and hear me out. Sarah's... she's been..." I couldn't get the words over my lips. Even after getting her back, I still couldn't wrap my head around the crimes that were committed against her. Ellie had gone pale already. I figured that something in my voice had tipped her off that whatever happened was bad. "She was kidnapped and tortured."

Ellie gasped and stumbled. She was holding a carton of milk, but when I dropped the bombshell on her, she let it fall. The liquid was spilling over the floor and she only just caught the island situated behind her. "What? How? Why?" The questions came in a rapid pace, and I couldn't keep up with them all, so I held my hands up to forestall the hurricane. It wasn't fair, I knew. After all, I myself had been as frantic as Ellie was. But it wouldn't do Sarah any good if Ellie went all mother bear right now—which I knew she would, because Ellie loved Sarah like a sister—so while I grabbed a few paper towels and started cleaning up the mess, I told her a cover version of the events that had transpired. She was kidnapped, tortured and beaten, and the police had found her a day later by tracing her cell-phone which she had turned on. It took me an enormous amount of willpower to not lose it completely while telling her. I wisely left out the fact that she had been violated. It would surely open up the floodgates.

Ellie was white as a sheet when I was done. "Oh my God," she whispered, her voice shrill with panic. "Get out of my way, Chuck. I've got to..." Her voice trailed off when she ran straight into me.

"Not now, sis. She's terrified, even if she won't admit it. Just let her be for a while. I'll take care of her, but please, if you see her just... she doesn't like talking about her feelings, so please don't pressure her."

She looked like she wanted to argue against me, use her stern 'mother' voice that she had perfected at the tender age of sixteen. But after a tense second where I thought she might knock me out and run into my bedroom to fuss all over her—and truthfully, Sarah deserved nothing less than an Ellie Bartowski who fussed over someone because it would mean that she would be handled with the most amazing care in the world—her shoulders slumped. "Fine, but... why? Why did this have to happen to her? She's the sweetest girl I've ever known. She doesn't deserve this."

Of course I agreed with her, but what could I say? I figured that telling her that Sarah was a spy and as such, she could turn on a dime from the sweetest woman in the world—which I could personally attest to her being—to one of the best agents that the world had ever seen, wouldn't go over well. "I know," I said. "I don't know why this happens, but trust me, if I ever find out who did this to her... they'll pay."

She scowled at me for a second before grabbing my shoulders. "Chuck... Charles. If you find them... I know you. I know that you wouldn't hurt a fly. And I never figured I'd say this, but when you find them... I want you to make it count."

I swallowed. "I will, sis. Trust me." And if I couldn't do it, then Casey sure as hell could, and I'd gleefully watch.

"I've got to... I've got to tell Devon... excuse me," she said, stammering quite a bit. She stumbled towards her bedroom, ashen faced.

"I'm gonna go back. I'll see you tomorrow, Ellie," I said, before retreating back to my room. I contemplated whether or not to go back to the chair, but decided that for both our sakes, I'd crawl into bed. After changing in some PJ pants and a shirt, I slid in under the covers and stayed on the far side of the bed, not wanting to jostle Sarah, or get up in her space really.

My plans proved to be moot, as she snuggled up to me within a couple of seconds. I put my arm around her, stroking her hair and drifted off to sleep.

I was roused by the smell of pancakes, as the aroma wafted through the apartment. As I opened up my eyes, and I saw that it was around nine-ish, I felt a wet spot on my chest. Sarah was silently crying. But, she looked asleep.

"Sarah," I whispered, slowly rousing her from her slumber. "Sarah, wake up, you're having a bad dream." A sharp intake of breath told me that she had in fact awakened. "You're okay. You're safe," I told her, hoping that it was enough. Hoping that her mind would blink away the horrible images.

"Good morning," she said, trying her best to sound chipper as she quickly wiped her eyes. "How'd you sleep? Ready for another day at work?"

"What? No, I'm staying home to take care of you."

"Why'd you do that, Chuck? I'm fine, I can go to work today. It's no problem." She hopped out of bed and left me behind, my mouth wide open in shock, as she hobbled towards the kitchen.

"Sarah, wait!" I shouted, as I jumped up and ran after her. I found her, lowering herself in one of the chairs. "What do you mean, you're fine and you can go to work?"

My shouting had caused Devon to look up, and he eyed Sarah warily. "Sarah, are you sure this is a good plan?"

"What do you mean, Devon?"

"Nothing," he said. He stood up and dragged me into the hallway. "Dude, there's something wrong with her."

"You don't say," I replied. "I don't know what's going on. She was all vulnerable yesterday, and today it's like somebody flipped a switch. Do you think she could be losing it? A psychotic break?"

"I don't know bro, but what I do know is that she should be on bed rest right now. You've got to keep her in the apartment by any means necessary. And maybe suggest that she sees a psychologist. I've seen a few cases where people were tortured. Trust me bro, you don't want her spiraling down a path like that. Because it might be one from which she can't climb back up."

I nodded. "I know, Devon. Can you recommend someone?"

"Try doctor Heidigger. He's got a really good reputation around the hospital. He's also specialized in trauma victims. But dude, she's going to need you every step of the way. Do you think you can handle that?"

I swallowed. "Definitely. I have to."

"Good. Now, let's go eat breakfast. Just make sure she doesn't overexert herself. I've got today off, so I should be able to keep an eye out as well, but the main load is on you. And trust me when I say, that after Ellie, there's no one I'd rather have helping me than you. She's in good hands with you, Chuck. Live up to your reputation."

I nodded. "Thanks Devon. For everything."

"What are almost-brothers for, if not that?" he smiled, but it came off as a grimace. We returned to the table and despite Sarah's obviously forced chipper mood, the air around us was somber. Suffocating even. I kept alternating stares between Ellie and Sarah, the latter happily munching away at the pancakes that Ellie had prepared for us, despite the little amount of sleep that she had to be on. The small talk we made was for Sarah's benefit though. We kept things light, and no one dared mentioning the horrible gorilla that was sat in the room.

Breakfast mercifully ended and we returned to my bedroom. I gently guided her to my bed, and crouched in front of her, making her look down on me. "Sarah, how can you even contemplate going back to work now?"

"Why not?"

"How do you mean why not? Why would you even contemplate going back to work now?"

"I feel fine, Chuck."

"How can you feel fine, Sarah? How could you possibly feel fine after that?"

"Chuck, stop it, please!" she pleaded, almost desperately. "Why would I not go?"

"Because you were tortured?" I almost shouted, exasperated. "Because not twenty-four hours ago, you were lying in a damn hospital with lacerations and bruises and God knows what else. That's why."

The panic disappeared from her face and instead, anger flared. "So what? You want me to stay here? Where my mind can oh so gently remind me of what happened? Pass, Chuck. I can't deal with that. Not now. So yeah, if you don't mind, I'm going to go to work. I'll see you at five."

She stood up and brushed past me, despite the room that was next to me. I stood, stunned. I hadn't thought of it that way. But I knew that I couldn't let her go. "Sarah, wait!" I shouted in a panic. "Look, I'll entertain you. I'll keep your mind off of things. Do you trust me?" She froze then, as her hand reached for the door handle. She nodded, but didn't turn around. "Then please, please stay here. If not for you, do it for me." I was playing dirty now, but her health trumped anything at this point in time. Losing our relationship, I could live with. It would be hard, but I would do it. Losing _her? _Out of the question.

She turned around then, and regarded me from under weary eyes. But the vulnerability that I had known was always hidden within those steel-blue eyes was on full display. "Chuck..."

"Yeah?"

"I'm scared."

"Oh, Sarah," I sighed and within three paces I was next to her, enveloping her in my arms, never letting go, never wanting to let go. I stroked her hair as she pressed her face in my shirt and gently guided her back to the bed. She didn't cry, but the tremors that made her muscles spasm shook me to my core. "I'll always be here for you Sarah. Nothing will ever separate us from each other ever again." The rational side of my brain pointed out that she could decide that she wasn't in this relationship whenever she damn well pleased, but I figured that wasn't what she wanted or needed to hear right now. So I held her, tried to make her feel safe, tried to take the demons that plagued her away.

I managed to get her to reconsider her efforts at getting to work and we spent the day watching stacks of DVDs, but despite the weak chuckles that she managed to give to a few comedic moments, I felt that her heart wasn't in it. She couldn't surrender to the mindless entertainment. It felt like we were slaves to the clock, waiting for the next bad thing to happen as the seconds ticked by in its slow fashion.

Sarah hadn't shown the progress that we were all hoping for. Most of the time, I found her sitting in front of the TV, staring at it blankly. She barely registered anything around her anymore. She didn't work out anymore, hell, she barely even ate. Usually, we had to bring her food. I'd sit by her side, helping her eat. Casey had shown up a couple of times and he'd sit in my bedroom, silently regarding her as she sat there. She hadn't spared him a glance.

At night was the only time she seemed to even be alive. She'd often crawl against me and holding my hand for dear life. Sometimes, I'd feel her shake. Most of the time, she stayed as still as possible. It seemed like she was afraid that I'd get angry at her, for moving. I approached her about it, but she denied it. Then again, she denied the fact that something was wrong as well.

A few days after we had found her, I tucked her in for the night, before climbing in myself and holding out my arms in a silent invitation. But instead of snuggling up against me, she perched herself on her elbow and looked at me. I mimicked her actions and we were just staring at each other. She kissed me then. It was slow, almost searching in its nature. But when I didn't pull back, mostly because I was cheering internally at the fact that she had initiated things, it slowly grew in intensity. Before long, she was straddling me, and I was more than okay with giving her the power that she so desperately craved. But I stopped her when her hands went to her shirt.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Isn't it obvious," she said. She didn't bother phrasing it like a question. "It's time to make love. For real this time."

"Wait, wait, wait," I sputtered before my brain could shut down and I would surrender myself to the amazing sensations that she was sure to bring. "Sarah, stop." I stilled her hands and awkwardly pushed myself to a somewhat sitting position, made more difficult by Sarah's position. "Why are you so intent on doing this?"

"It's been a long time coming, Chuck. Sooner or later this was going to happen," she said as she leveled me with a flat stare. "Why are you fighting this? Don't you... don't you want this?"

"God, I do. But Sarah, you've _just_ come home. You've just come from the hospital. There's no rush on it."

"I feel _fine,"_ she said airily, waving away my protests before they had even formed. "Are you a doctor, Chuck? Do you know what's best for me?"

"Damn it, stop trying to make me look like the bad guy, Sarah. I'm just trying to look out for you, and I'm pretty damn sure that it's in both of our interests that you heal before we start doing stuff like that."

"Fine," she said, before promptly hopping out of bed, grabbing her pillow and walking out of my bedroom. I wanted to go after her, but a voice in my head—which sounded a lot like Ellie—told me to let her cool off before I went in after her. So I laid on bed, counting down the minutes—I had decided to give her a quarter of an hour—until I could ask for an explanation. To ask why she was so stubborn.

As the clock finally drew past the point of acceptable cooling-down periods, I walked to the guest bedroom and knocked on the door. "Sarah, can I come in?" I took the feminine grunt as acquiescence. I found her sitting on the bed, staring at the door, seemingly lost in thought. I closed the door and leaned against it. "What was tonight all about?"

"That was me, showing that I loved you in the best way I could," she said.

"But why? Sarah, you've been..." I couldn't say the word yet, so I just shook my head. "... you know what. Why in God's name would you want to make love already?"

"Because I can't let them win."

And there was really nothing I could say to that.

A week after our argument over whether or not to make love, I had just finished my shift and found my way home. The sounds of a laugh track buzzed through the courtyard and I chose to forego the door in favor of the Morgan door. As I climbed through the window, Sarah looked up, shot me a tiny smile, and returned her fixated stare on the television set. I greeted her and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, like I had grown accustomed to doing. I felt that, if I kissed her the way I really, really wanted to, she'd feel violated, so I figured I would let her dictate the pace.

If I had blinked, I would have missed the brief smile, that evaporated within milliseconds. The grimace had returned. It seemed that every time she found herself in a good place, it was torn away from her in seconds. I sighed. "How are you feeling?"

She gave me a blank stare in answer and I blew out yet another sigh. We were in an interesting—if interesting could be considered infuriating—composition, Sarah and I. She would change on a dime. Sometimes she was open, other times, she boxed herself in, not allowing anything to slip past her carefully constructed walls. And I just didn't know how to behave when she acted like that. I wanted to pry, to get her to open up so that we could share her misery. So that the burden that she was carrying was no longer her own. I had meant it when I had offered to be her baggage handler, despite the fact that it was a supremely awkward moment to be confessing things like that. And of course, when it turned out that I was an assignment to her, well, that just made my exclamation moot.

But as far as I was concerned, I would go to the ends of the earth for her. And when stuff like this happened, it just made it impossible for me to prove to her that we were in this together.

I settled myself on the bed next to her and despite the fact that I hadn't eaten anything in a while, and my curiosity was almost burning with intensity, I put an arm around her and was content to join her in the mindless entertainment that the TV was sure to bring. But when I had just put my arm around Sarah, and she burrowed into me in what had fast become our thing, the TV switched to Casey, who was panting.

"Walker, Bartowski. Get your asses to Castle. I've got a surprise for you."

He left it at that, and the TV switched back to the sitcom we were watching on its own accord. I looked at her and I saw the confusion that was without a doubt etched on my face, reciprocated on hers. "You want to go check it out?" I asked. She shrugged, which I took for assent. I grabbed her some clothes—we had somewhat agreed to move in together, considering the fact that she didn't seem to want to return to her hotel room, so I had gone over after a shift and picked up her clothes—and gave her some privacy. I figured my attire would be good enough for whatever Casey had planned.

We climbed through the Morgan door, and Sarah's grace had seemingly returned, but it stood in stark contrast with her mood. The physical wounds were healing, but the part that I had so much wanted to heal, her frail emotional state, seemed to be stuck in stasis. She wasn't getting any worse... but she wasn't getting better either. We made our way to the parking spaces, and without a word, we walked to Sarah's Porsche.

The drive to Castle was made in silence. Sarah had chosen to drive—she had sworn to me that she was at least fit to drive and I couldn't help but believe her—and I found us driving at a sedate pace, something highly unusual for her. Still, I chose not to comment on it. I found it to be a nice change of pace, what with me usually clamping my eyes shut and praying to anyone who would listen that I wouldn't die in a violent car crash.

The parking lot was deserted, so we slipped into the Orange Orange without attracting too much attention. The people that did see us, saw Sarah with a key. They probably figured we were going to lower the health-code rating from an A to a B minus. I wished that were the case. It would mean that she was getting better. We slipped through the freezer door and entered Castle. The main room was desolated. "Casey?" I said. "You in here?"

"Interrogation rooms," echoed through the base. I looked at Sarah who blankly stared back at me. We continued down the stairs and made our way to where Casey said he was. We found him waiting in front of a room.

"Glad you could make it. I've got a little surprise for you."

"Yeah, you've said that Casey. What is it?" Sarah asked, her tone becoming slightly irate.

"Did I interrupt you two or something?" he asked with a frustratingly smug smirk.

"Shut up, Casey," Sarah said, beating me to the punch. "Now what do you have to show us."

"I thought you two might appreciate getting a little one on one time with our good friend mister Porter."

"He's still alive?" I asked before my brain-to-mouth filter could kick in.

"You think I'd just off him without offering my partner a chance to get even?" he asked, sounding vaguely hurt. "I've been keeping him alive. He cracked a few days ago, but I figured that turnabout is fair play. He thinks he's been in here for a month."

Sarah smirked. It was unlike anything I had ever seen from her. It was wholly evil, totally uncaring for the life of another person. I found myself smirking alongside her. "How'd you manage that?" she asked.

"Every time he'd fall asleep, we'd bring him food. Screwed up his internal clock like nobody's business. Right now, he probably doesn't even know what side is up."

He led us into the observatory and I saw Lucien tied up to the chair, his eyes rapidly moving, trying to take in his surroundings, but never truly registering them. He looked a far cry from the evil incarnated that I had seen in the warehouse. He looked miserable. It was perfect. Casey walked out of the observatory and into the room. Lucien twitched when he heard the door being opened and his leg started jiggling under the table.

"Hey Luke," Casey said as he walked in. "Brought some friends. You remember agent Walker?"

"What? Who? Who is she? Is she here to release me?"

"Not quite," Casey said as he directed Lucien's stare towards the one way mirror. "She's the entire reason that you're in here in the first place. See, you hurt her. And where I come from, that just doesn't fly."

"I didn't hurt anyone," Lucien cried. "You have to believe me."

Casey barked a laugh. "You know what happens if you lie, right?"

Lucien actually started sweating. "No, please... fine, yeah, I know who she is. But seriously, our job was to break her, we just did what we could, it wasn't personal!"

"Oh, but it became personal when you took my partner. That's when you crossed the fucking line. Whatever you managed to think up in that sick, twisted mind of yours afterwards only served to increase the amount of pain you've inevitably brought upon yourself." He directed his voice towards us. "Walker, Bartowski, I feel like this would be a nice time for you to get your shots in."

I stood up immediately, a red cloud having descended over my vision. The sick twisted bastard was going to suffer. I had run through so much scenarios in my mind, of things I would do to him when I would have him at my mercy, that I had lost count. My hand found the knob of the door and was about to yank it open, when I noticed that Sarah had yet to move. The one thing I had never thought about, was what Sarah would think of me if she saw me acting out the way I wanted to. Because I knew. I knew that he wasn't going to leave that room alive. Maybe it wasn't my place. Maybe it was Sarah's. Maybe she would be able to free herself, if only partially, from her demons by having her revenge.

"Sarah... you should grab this opportunity."

She didn't look at me. Her elbow was perched on her leg, and her head was resting on her fist. She kept looking in the room, where Casey was standing in the corner, his arms crossed, waiting for us to make a decision.

It seemed like ages before she answered. It was soft at first, and I asked her to repeat. She looked at me then. "No, I won't do it."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want you to see that side of me."

"What? Sarah, please. I don't condone violence, but if there has ever been a situation where retribution was a-okay with me, this would be it."

"But you don't understand. I'm not that much better than _him,_" she said, as she spat the last part. "But you don't see that side of me. If you would, it would destroy your image of me. And _that_ would destroy _me._ Can you look yourself in the eye and claim that you could love a cold blooded murderer? A torturer?"

I stroked a wisp of hair that had fallen in front of her eyes during her tirade away and looked her square in the eyes. "If it was you? Without a doubt."

She seemed speechless then, as if contemplating whether I was being genuine, and it hurt me that she still couldn't trust me as freely as I had wanted her to. Finally though, she seemed to have found a response. "You say that now... and you might mean it. And then what? In a few years, you'll realize that you're spending your life with someone who killed people. Who tortured people. Who had sex with other people, people she barely knew, for a living. How can you love something that's made up of things you hate?"

"Because I don't give a damn about the individual parts, Sarah. I care about _you_. I know damn well what I'm getting myself in to, and you know what? I'm ecstatic to begin. I can't wait to show you around to people I've never seen before and saying that a woman as beautiful, capable and plain amazing as you, fell in love with _me._ And you _helped_ people by doing those horrible things. You may not know it, but I've seen it in each and every mission that we completed, as a team. You're a hero, Sarah. And normal people don't know about it. But you know. And so do I."

She seemed lost for a moment, before remembering how she had mirrored the speech to me, and once again, her mood flipped. "That sounds familiar."

"I learned from the best."

"I also remember something else."

"What?"

She leaned in and pressed her lips against mine and I melted into her, as I willingly allowed myself to drown in her lips, her soft, wavy hair, her touch, her everything. When she broke it, she allowed a smile to break through the pain that she was still feeling, and I felt my day brighten. To offer her a brief respite from the constant emotional and mental torture was worth so much more to me than anything else had ever had. "Told you I could suffer through it."

"Hmm," I said as I continued to hold her.

"Chuck... thank you."

We left the observatory and I informed Casey that Lucien was in good hands with him. He grunted and assured us that he'd make sure that he would at least equal Sarah's pain, if not double it. I nodded, and gave him a firm handshake. A hug would have probably gotten me an uppercut to the nose, so I played it safe. As Sarah and I walked away from the interrogation rooms and into the main area, hand in hand, I saw the visage of the General displayed on the monitors, silently watching us. I cleared my throat, and Sarah turned. Immediately, her posture became rigid, and she looked to be about three seconds away from throwing in a salute for good measure. "General," she greeted.

"Agent Walker. It's good to see you again. How are you feeling?"

"I'm feeling fine, ma'am," she said. But her voice was a bit too strained, a bit too theatrical to fool me. I highly doubted it would fool the General.

"Cut the crap," the General shouted and I flinched. Sarah did as well. "Damn it, Walker, this isn't the time for you to put on another tough act. I'm not asking you this as your boss, a general of the United States. I'm asking you as a woman, someone who has seen first-hand, the effects something like this can have on a person. So I _order_ you, to tell me how you are feeling. And so help me God if I think that you're lying."

"I'll… I'll just go ahead. Sarah, I'll see you upstairs," I stammered, before making my exit. This wasn't something that I was supposed to hear.

"Chuck, wait," she said and I turned around. She held out her hand and her eyes were begging me to stay. "Please."

"Are you sure?" She nodded and I sided myself next to her, taking her hand in mine. Sarah opened her mouth to speak, but rather than hearing her voice, a terrible wail cut through Castle. "What the frak?" I shouted as I jumped back thanks to an instinctual reaction. "What was that?"

Casey stumbled into the main room, his clothes soaked in blood. "Sorry," he said. "Forgot to close the door. Don't mind me." He walked to the armory, grabbed a mean looking cleaver and went back to the interrogation room.

Sarah seemed to be unaffected by the inhumane scream, or Casey walking around with vicious looking knives, so I tried to copy her, but my heart was beating in my throat. Still, neither Sarah nor the General chose to comment on what had just transpired, the latter looking rather smug about the whole ordeal, so I thought it prudent to keep my mouth shut as well.

"Regarding your question, General. I feel… empty."

"I see. And how is your support system?"

"General?"

"Are there people that are taking care of you? Is Mr. Bartowski taking care of you? Often, in situations like these, the victim follows a destructive pattern with his or her thoughts. It's important that you have people around you, that care about you. Do you have that support system?"

"General… Chuck… Chuck has been great. It's just that, I've not been acting like myself lately." I squeezed her hand and was about to tell her she was crazy for thinking she had to be acting like herself in a time like this, when the General beat me to it.

"Agent Walker, in what possible universe do you live, that you would expect yourself to act normal in a situation like this? I highly recommend that you get help, on both a personal and a professional level. Mister Bartowski can take care of the personal level, but I'd like to refer you to one of the Company's psychiatrists."

"General," Sarah replied, her voice tinted with a steel edge. "I am an agent of the CIA. We are trained for this. Now, is this everything you wanted to know? If so, I'd like to go home now." Her poker face, the one I had been trying to break through for years, was back in place and she hadn't missed a step. Her face was inscrutable, anger emblazoned in her features. And just like that, the tiny steps of progress she had made were destroyed as her defense mechanism kicked in. Deny, deny, deny.

It was a new revelation for me, but I had figured out that was her go-to mechanism when she told me, while under the influence of truth serum no less, that there wouldn't ever be a chance for us together. And a year later, I was the only thing that had kept her going and she loved me. Loved _me_. The pieces of the puzzle fell into place then.

I wondered what had set the change into motion, but the clicks of Sarah's heels against the metal staircase pulled me out of my musings. I set off behind her, but the General's voice made me stop in my tracks. "Mister Bartowski. While I normally wouldn't condone a relationship between an asset and an agent, I feel that it is in the best interest of all parties involved that I allow this to be a onetime digression. As such, the following advice is given with everyone's best interests in mind. Get agent Walker professional help. Trust me." She stabbed at the keyboard below the camera and disappeared from sight.

I found Sarah waiting in her car and I sat myself in the passenger seat, without saying a word. I had no idea on how to approach Sarah, especially not when she was in this foul a mood. She didn't say a word as she revved the engine and we drove away, leaving the double O, and Lucien's screams in our wake.

I kept quiet, until we reached the apartment and Sarah had reverted back to her emotionless state. The state in which I most feared for her. Who knew what went on in her head? She had no intention of telling, and we—Devon, Ellie and I—just didn't know how to get through to her, despite our continued attempts in doing so.

"Sarah," I said as I closed the door to my bedroom behind me. "What was that in Castle? Why are you so against getting help?"

"Don't need it," she said, like she hadn't a care in the world.

"But why not? What if it could help? Don't you want to get better?"

"Who says there's anything wrong with me?" she asked. What infuriated me was that she still wore the blank expression. Any sort of emotion, be it challenging, annoyed, angry, anything would've been better than that same blank expression.

"The people that care about you," I said and I saw that one hit home. "You have people who care about you, Sarah. And I know that might be hard to believe for you, but it's true. Ellie cares for you, Devon cares for you, even Casey and General Beckman seem to have your best interests at heart. And I... I love you, Sarah. So all that goes doubly for me. It seems that the only person who doesn't think about you, is you."

"Damn it, Chuck," she said, and finally there was an edge to her voice. "I don't need it. I'm going to do fine, so you can rest comfortably in that knowledge. Now leave it alone."

"Why are you fighting me about this?" I shouted, exasperated to the point of despair. "What's so wrong with admitting you need some damn help for once in your life? It's not a crime you know! In fact, it's actually human."

"You don't understand," she shouted back.

"How can I, if you never tell me anything?"

"Because it's weak! I'm not weak, Chuck! I don't need any help. I can do this fine on my own."

"Like hell you can. If we weren't around to feed you, you'd have died from self-induced starvation."

"I never asked for you to help me! I don't need this, Chuck. I don't need you fussing over me, I don't need Casey throwing me a bone, and I sure as hell don't need to see a fucking shrink! You know what? I'm going back to my hotel. Good bye." She began grabbing her clothes and stuffing them in her suitcase. I knew I should've apologized, knew I shouldn't have pushed her, but her stubbornness was driving me insane.

"Go ahead," I said. "Run away, like you always do. I expected better of you. I expected you to be strong enough to admit you couldn't win this fight on your own. I guess I was wrong." My eyes widened in shock then, not believing the words that had just come out of my mouth. Sarah wore a similar expression. But then she glared at me and left. The door slammed shut with a bang and I sank to my bed, my hands shaking with adrenaline and fear that coursed through my veins. I wanted to run after her, explain myself, but my legs felt like jelly. I couldn't believe I had lost my calm, but she was so damn infuriating. Couldn't she see that the only thing I wanted was for her to be happy, to be safe, any way that I knew how?

I dropped myself on the bed with a groan, and I felt like grabbing a pillow, pushing it against my face and scream until my voice would give out. Instead, I looked at the ceiling, ran the conversation—if you could still call it that—through my mind and winced at how much of an ass I was being. My accusations were justified. My timing? Not so much.

Minutes drained into hours, and Sarah still hadn't called. I hadn't made an attempt at calling either. I knew I should, but I held out a small ember of hope that what I said got through to her. It was up to her to make the first move. I just hoped to God that I wouldn't end up regretting that decision.

The world around me slowly receded into darkness as I felt myself drifting off. My dreams were filled with Sarah and me, happy together. A month into the future, a year into the future... a decade. We were happy. _I_ was happy. Sarah looked happy. I didn't know whether it was a mask or if she truly was happy. And I hated myself for doubting it, but how could I know?

"Chuck," she said as she slowly stepped toward me, her hips sashaying in a hypnotic pattern. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" I asked.

"I'm so sorry. Please forgive me."

"You're not making a whole lot of sense, baby," I said. The way her words sounded so sad stood in stark contrast with the smile that was beaming on her face. She kissed me then. I felt the soft, supple press of her lips against mine, and I couldn't help but smile. Smile because she chose me. Smile because I was the luckiest guy in the world. Smile because the dream was _really_ realistic.

My eyes flew open when Sarah pulled back and I was back in my room, rather than the pitch black surroundings of my dream. Sarah was crouched next to the bed. She looked like she had been close to crying. Her eyebrows were lowered and she looked frazzled. "I'm sorry," she said again.

I shook out the pleasant haze from my dream and I reached out for her, putting my hand on her cheek. She leaned into my touch and I softly stroked her skin with my thumb. "I'm sorry too," I said. "I shouldn't have said the things I said."

She shook her head. "No, you were... you were right. I just... God, I just don't know what to do anymore, Chuck. I don't know and it terrifies me. I'm scared. I'm so fucking scared all the time and I hate myself. I got captured Chuck. It was all my fault."

"Don't say that," I said, the vehemence obvious in my tone. I stood up and hugged her tight to me. "Don't you dare say things like that. I don't care how much you try and convince yourself that this was somehow your fault. Listen to me, and listen carefully. It's _not_ your fault." She tried to look away but I forced her to meet my eyes. "Do you understand? It's not your fault."

"Yeah... yeah, I understand you." She didn't sound sincere though. "I'm gonna go... I'm going to see a shrink. For you."

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you. C'mon, let's call it a night."

The day after that, we informed the General through video-chat that we would like to take her up on her offer. She smiled at us and even shot me a grateful look when Sarah wasn't looking. Sarah got an appointment for later in the day, and I drove her there. Since it was a one-on-one session, I stayed in the car, content with playing games on my iPhone and waiting for Sarah to come out. I noticed that I was nervous. I felt myself praying that the shrink could get through to her in a way that we hadn't been able to, despite trying. Then the door opened, and my breath caught in anticipation.

She came out, and her face was wrecked by crying. Her mascara had run out, her eyes were red and puffy and her entire face was flushed a scarlet red from the strain. A small smile was playing on her lips though, and her eyes looked just a little less frightened. Just a little less tainted, and I breathed a sigh in relief. She had never been more beautiful to me.

"How'd it go?" I asked as she slid into the passenger seat.

"It was... good," she said. She sounded completely sincere.

"Thank God," I muttered. "Let's go home."

"Yeah," she said as she wiped a few more tears away. "Let's."

Over the next couple of weeks, things went well. Sarah had taken to the psychiatrist with gusto, and it seemed that after every session, a little of the woman that I knew and loved was returning. Her smiles became more radiant, and more frequent. She started engaging other people in conversation again, and she was crawling out of her shell. To celebrate, I had decided to have a romantic dinner for two. Now that it seemed like she was getting better, I couldn't help but let my mind drift to the possibility of us connecting in the most intimate way possible. I wouldn't ever push, but I knew that if she offered, the odds of me saying no were astronomically low.

I had shanghaied Ellie into making lasagna, although it turned out that she was more than happy to do it without me having to threaten to get out the baby pictures. She seemed to be elated that Sarah was getting there again. I completely understood where she was coming from.

I lit the candles and put on some soft music, before knocking on the door to my bedroom. "Sarah, dinner's ready."

She came out, wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants, while I was still in my Nerd Herd getup. She froze and gasped. "What's this?"

I smiled. "I thought we'd celebrate your progress with a dinner, just the two of us. No Ellie, no Devon, no spy business."

"Chuck," she hissed. "I'm not dressed for a nice dinner. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Hadn't noticed," I said, and shrugged. "You look fine to me. Fantastic even." I blamed the lighting of the apartment, because if it wasn't the lighting, Sarah was actually blushing.

"Thank you," she said. "You look nice as well."

"I'm in my working attire," I said, brows knitted in confusion. "What could possibly be nice about that?"

"Because it's _you_. Not Charles Carmichael in a tux, but Chuck Bartowski. That's the man I fell in love with."

I beamed at her, and pulled out her chair. She giggled, but padded over nonetheless, and sat down. She thanked me, and I made sure she was comfortable, before getting the lasagna from the oven and serving two plates, along with a decent red wine I had picked up. "Please don't throw this over me again," I said, but I didn't get the chuckle I had vied for. Instead, tears sprung to her eyes. "Oh shit. Sarah, I... God, I'm such an asshole, please... I'm so sorry I said that."

She sniffled and it was a far cry from the amazing woman that I had gotten to know. The old Sarah would've never let me see her cry. Even when she thought I was blown up when we rescued the ambassador from the Triad their bomb, she quickly turned away from me. Now though, she seemed to be okay with me seeing her emotions. But damn it, I was an idiot. I walked over and enveloped her in a hug, murmuring apologies in her hair.

She hugged me back, but she never did cry. Her shoulders never shook, and she didn't make a sound. Her breathing had turned ragged, but abated with time, back into its normal pattern. I released her and pulled back. She looked me in the eye, her eyes still glimmering, but she had found her composure once more. I just hoped that my little joke hadn't ruined the progression that the psychiatrist had made with her. I would probably never be able to forgive myself.

I sat down again, and waited for her to make the first move. Waited for her to let me know that she was alright. Luckily, I didn't have to wait too long, and I enthusiastically jumped on the opportunity to talk about my day. She listened, enraptured by Jeff and Lester and their futile attempt at jumpstarting Jeffster's career. She chimed in with questions, and when it was my turn to ask her about her day, she didn't shirk away from telling me about her progress. She admitted she hated talking to someone about her issues—she had finally accepted that she had them, which was a huge relief—and that she would rather talk to me about them, but all in all, she felt she was getting better. I almost lost it when she said she wasn't feeling as scared anymore. I felt like running to whoever Sarah had appointed, and hugging the guy to within an inch of his life.

When our dinner had finished, we cleaned the table together, and a comfortable silence washed over us as we did the dishes. I scrubbed and Sarah toweled them off. It was domestic tranquility at its finest. But as I looked at her profile, I noticed how much weight she had lost. Her cheeks were hollow and her hair had lost some of its sparkle. Still, I figured that was absolutely normal, and if the portions of the lasagna that she ate tonight were any indication, it wouldn't be too long until she was back to her normal physical self. The wounds were healing and all that remained were the scars.

"I'm glad that you're seeing the shrink," I said as I started draining the sink. She didn't say anything in reply, she just smiled that small, cute smile.

We ended the night by watching a movie, cuddled up together. I must've dozed off though, as I blinked and the credits were playing. "Why don't you go to bed, Chuck? I'm just going to grab something and I'll join you."

I nodded—I stopped having the physical strength to talk—and carried myself to bed. I plopped down, making sure that I left the light on so that Sarah wouldn't have too hard of a time finding it in the dark. I closed my eyes, until I heard a very feminine voice clearing he throat. I blinked lazily, and then my eyes widened. Sarah was standing wearing a black negligee, with lacy bits in all the important parts. It was a damn near copy of my dream-turned-nightmare. "Holy sh—Shhh," Sarah shushed me.

"Sa—sarah what are you doing?"

"It's been too damn long, Chuck. Unless you're not up to it of course... but..." Her eyes flicked down and back up, a victorious smirk coating her face. "I'm guessing that you're _up_ to the task."

I sat up and threw the covers over me in an attempt to protect my decency. "Look, Sarah... I want to, I really want to. But it's all up to you. Can you look me in the face and say that you're completely up to it?"

She walked over on her knees towards me, and cupped my cheek. She searched my face, and smiled. "I'm ready, Chuck. It's been a long time coming. And I'll admit, the first time I tried, I may not have been in the best place... but I'm ready. Trust me, Chuck." And then she kissed me. Hard. All my objections died a silent death as I surrendered to her, pulled her closer to me until every inch of my being was filled with her. She sat up and removed the top half, cladding her only in the black panties and nothing else. My jaw dropped. I had always had fantasies about her. What sane man wouldn't? But the reality outclassed the fantasies by a mile. She seemed bashful at my gaze, and I lowered it, only to be met with her flat stomach and her panties. I began to look anywhere but her, trying to keep her as comfortable as possible, although I really just wanted to stare.

She grabbed my face and forced me to meet her eyes. "It's okay," she said. "It's just... different, you know. Know that someone's worshipping you. I've never really had that."

"You should have," I said. "You deserve the world, Sarah."

"We can talk about giving me the world later. How about now, you just give me you."

I sat up and she removed my shirt, before meeting me in a blistering kiss once more. She took my hands and guided them to her chest, sucking in a hard breath when I cupped her breasts. She broke for air and moaned softly as I massaged them, feeling the comfortable weight in the palm of my hand. I softly pinched her nipple, and a combination of a moan and a giggle broke free. It was the sexiest sound I had ever heard, and before I knew it, I surrendered to the passion.

It was three weeks after we had made love for the first—and definitely not the last—time, that I woke up in bed, cuddled up with Sarah like we had woken up so often. I still couldn't get used to it. I hoped I never would.

I had woken up before she had, and I took the time to revel in her. I breathed her in, before dropping myself back on my pillow. I was pretty damn content with life at that point in time. I had everything I ever wanted. Which was easy, because I really only ever truly wanted Sarah. It wasn't until I had met her that I realized how what I felt for Jill could easily pale in comparison to true love. And when I had replaced Sarah with Jill, it had more to do with the fact that I couldn't be with Sarah than wanting to be with Jill. I had been foolish then. Not anymore though.

Sarah stirred and she turned around when she opened her eyes.

"Morning, gorgeous," I said.

"Good morning," she breathed, before stretching out. Her face was still rumpled with sleep and her hair was fussy. She was breathtaking. But there was something off about her. I just couldn't put my finger on it.

"Are you feeling alright?" I asked.

"Actually... no..." she said, and she started fidgeting with the covers. "I think... I think I want to go back to the CIA again."


	5. Acceptance

**A/N: So this is the end of the fic. I don't know when the sequel will come out, but the idea for it is firmly lodged into my brain. Now all I have to do is get it down on (e)paper.**

* * *

**ACCEPTANCE**

* * *

I blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

She refused to look at me, as she kept fidgeting. "I want to go back."

I was stunned silent, my mouth refusing to form any syllables. "But why?" I asked.

"Because without it, I don't know who I am."

"What do you mean? You're Sarah Walker. Yeah, your name may not be your own, but I'd like to think that I've gotten to know the woman behind the veil. And what I see is someone who knows who she is."

"Right. I'm a spy." My face fell. The retort was too flawless for me to say anything to it. I had talked myself into a trap. "Chuck... I know that you want what's best for me. And I love you for that. I really do. No one else has ever had my back like you. But trust me... this will be what's best for me."

"Sarah..." I started, my tone cautious. "Trust me on this, please. The last thing I want to do is tell you what to do. I mean, look at you, you're the strongest person I've ever met in my life. You've been dealt a shitty hand at childhood and you made the best out of it. If you truly want to go back, I'll support you, I always will.

But I'm begging you to please take my objections into consideration. I want you safe. Because if something happens to you, I..." I swallowed, my voice rough as horrible images of Sarah's broken body in that musky room flashed through my mind once more. "It would end me. Because you're _it_ for me." I held up my hands to forestall the objections that she wanted to give. "And I know, I know, it'll pressure you, but trust me on this Sarah, even if you're not at all sure about what you want yet, that won't change one simple fact. _You_'re what I want out of life. I don't need you to say the same thing. I don't need you to say anything to me now. I just want you to think about it. For me."

"Okay," she said after what seemed like an aeon. "I'll take it into consideration. But Chuck, this isn't because of you. It's not because you're not enough for me. It's because I need this. I love you, but I don't know if I can stay at home, become a hausfrau like you want me to."

"I don't want you to become that," I said, affronted. "I want you to become the person you want to be!"

"Well, I want to become the person who could love you like you deserve. When I figured I would die, I..." She briefly paused and took a deep breath, but tears welled up anyway. I thumbed them away and she leaned into my touch for a second, before steeling her resolve. "I knew I had a couple of regrets. Actually, I had a lot of regrets. I still do. But the one regret that weighed most on me was making you feel like I was stringing you along. Because I wasn't. I never wanted to. But I promised myself that if I made it out alive, I would show you.

But I've come to realize that it's not fair to both of us. Because I know... I know I can't take distance from it. Not yet. And what if I stopped doing it, stopped being a spy, and I would come to hate you for it? Where would we be then?"

"I don't know," I said, and sighed. "I just know that I can't... Do you know how hard it is for me to sit here, like this? To know that I can't take the pain away? To know that every day that you spend being a spy, could be your last? Sarah, I've had to come to terms with the fact that I might never see you again. And it killed me. It's not... it's not just you that's scared by this."

She looked away and blinked away the tears and I had to take a few deep breaths myself to keep my composure. This wasn't at all how I had foreseen our life together. But then, what was I expecting? I couldn't honestly expect Sarah to drop everything that made her, her, could I?

"I'll think about it. I promise, Chuck."

"Thank you," I said, and we went about our day like normal. But the air was charged. A nervous coil had twisted up inside my stomach, and the minutes of the day were filled with wonder and fear. Would she go back? And if she did, what would that mean for us? Better yet, how would that make me feel? I meant it when I told her that I would support her in whatever she chose to do. But I had laid it all out on the table. I had told her how much she meant to me. The ball was in her court now, and I was scared that she was going to go back anyway.

I had just finished screwing in the last screw to fix a PC, and as I lovingly patted it, before cracking my knuckles and moving on to the next one, I heard Casey clearing his throat.

"What the hell was that this morning, Bartowski?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, why the hell did you not tell Walker that her going back into the field is a monumentally stupid idea? That idea is about as high-quality as your ideas usually are. And you're a moron."

"Shut up, Casey," I said, not bothering to look him in the eye. I turned back to the fresh stack of carcasses, hard drives and mother boards that piled up in front of me. "It's her call. She's her own person. I can't tell her what she can and can't do."

"I love this new humanitarian perspective you've gotten here, Bartowski. But I don't give a damn about any of that. All I care about is a partner who won't be a liability. And despite Walker's obvious talents, she will become a liability. She's messed up, Bartowski. We don't allow messed up agents. Messed up agents cause for messed up missions. Messed up missions result in death. Do you see where I'm going with this?"

"I do. And I told her, which you obviously already know. So why are you really here?"

"Convince her, Bartowski. Convince her that her life can be something else. Because if she does go ahead with this, she might very well turn into me. Or you both end up in a body-bag. And Bartowski, as annoying as you might be, I don't want to see you end up in a body-bag. Nor do I want to see Walker in one of them. So you had best get your act together." He left without so much as a few parting words, and as I went back to work, I was left wondering if that truly was our future.

I decided to get myself some yoghurt, and hopefully some answers, by the time lunch rolled around. I made the familiar trek from the Buy More to the OO, and I couldn't help but cheer on the inside for a bit. This would be the first time that this walk wouldn't be for a cover. My _girlfriend_ worked across from me. My head still spun when I thought about it. I pushed my way through the door and the familiar chime of the bells made me grin in excitement. But as the door closed behind me, I found the store desolated. There wasn't even any tumbleweed, which I thought was a massive disappointment. But I was still confused. The store not having any customers wasn't that odd. It happened more often than any store should really be able to handle. But Sarah wasn't behind the counter, wiping it off or suggestively licking yoghurt from her finger. She was nowhere to be found. And my excitement evaporated as my mind instantly sprung to the worst case scenarios.

"Sarah?" I tried, hoping that she was in the bathroom or something. But the store remained deathly silent. I decided to check out Castle through the handy monitor that the cash-register had. Maybe she was in there, sorting out some issues with herself.

I opened the application that I had used when I caught Sarah and Cole Barker in a... passionate embrace—I still winced when I thought of that, but it was all in the past now, or so I hoped—and flipped through the cameras. I found her in the dojo, sitting down and staring at the ground. It was hard to tell her expression through the grainy camera and I contemplated going down to her. To see if she needed my help. But I wanted to give her some distance. I had been by her side almost constantly, every day since it happened, and despite the fact that I couldn't be happier about it, I figured she needed her space. So with a heavy heart, I closed the application and went back to work.

The shift was gruelling. Every second that passed felt like an eternity, and I had to physically restrain myself from running over and asking whether she had made her decision yet. The one thing that kept going through my mind, was the question that I least wanted to ask. Could we still be a thing if she went back to spying?

The scary thing was, that I wasn't sure.

I had promised her that I would back her up. And I had every intention of keeping that promise. But how could she expect me to stay home when she was out trying to save the world? How could she expect that if I was at home with the knowledge of what had happened before? I couldn't. My mind was racing a mile a minute, and my limbs felt restless. My hands performed their tasks mechanically, which left my brain free to fret about all the possibilities. If she did go back to spying, I'd only be in touch with her when we did the dailies and when she would come home. Given the fact that the CIA wasn't allowed to operate on domestic soil—which made me wonder how exactly all of our missions were sanctioned—there would be stretches of time where I wouldn't hear anything from her. And of course, there was the pesky fact that the CIA would frown on an asset and handler cohabitating. Much less them being romantically involved. Sure, Beckman had sort-of given her approval. But what would her superiors say?

A sudden flash of pain shot through my right hand, and when I looked at it, I noticed that it was entirely white. I had clenched the screwdriver to the point of actually hurting myself. So obviously, me staying at home wasn't the best of ideas. But what else could I do?

It clicked for me then. I wouldn't be able to stay at home. But I would be able to go with her. I would be able to train myself, push myself to the limits and become her equal. I made up my mind then. If Sarah became a spy, then so would I. I would be damned if I lost her to that world if I wasn't around to try and stop it. If I would lose her, I wanted to know that I did everything that I was capable of doing to try and save her. If I wasn't... If I wasn't, I just couldn't live with myself.

But then another chilling thought shot through me. I never wanted to be the hero. I had told Sarah so, many times. And she seemed to be fine with this. What if she didn't want me to be the hero? What if she would tell me that she didn't want me to come. Where would we be then?

I slammed the table in frustration and the screws that were still lying on it jumped and clattered of the table. I muttered a curse as I bent over to pick them back up. Did it matter? I didn't want to tell Sarah what she could or could not do, but would she extend the same courtesy to me? And if she didn't, would I heed that?

I wanted to scream. I felt like I was walking on egg-shells around her, making sure that everything I said, every move I made, was the one that she expected from me. To make sure that she wouldn't realize how much of a loser I truly was. That she wouldn't kick me to the curb. And that's when I made my mind up. I would join her, with or without her permission. If she went back, I went back. If she stayed, I'd stay.

The Buy More seemed almost trivial after my epiphany. Selling appliances and computer parts for a living paled in comparison to saving the free world. I envied my co-workers though. The job I was going to potentially be applying for was an 'are you insane?' on the scale of one to ten with regards to safety. I swallowed nervously. God, I hoped she wouldn't choose to go back to the CIA.

When I finally was allowed to clock out, my paranoia had gotten the better of me. I had run every possible course of action through my mind, and most of them didn't end very well. Being a spy didn't seem like something that one could build a solid foundation for a future on.

When I came home, Sarah's car was already parked. I swallowed and opened the door. "Sarah? I'm home."

"I'm in the bedroom," she called back and I made my way there, every step adding to my anxiety. I opened the door and found her sitting on bed, her knees hugged to her chest. Her cheek was resting on her knee and she was looking at me. "Close the door please," she whispered. I did, before throwing my messenger bag in the corner and sitting in a chair.

She took a deep breath and tears sprung in her eyes and my heart plummeted. "I've thought about this. A lot. I couldn't stop thinking about what you told me, Chuck. But I just can't give it up. I have to go back. You always call me brave, but I'm not. I'm a coward, Chuck. And I'm scared. Scared that I'll lose myself if I give up my job, letting go of my very essence. And that's why I have to go back."

I blew out a rough breath and nodded. "Okay."

"Whuh?"

"Okay. If you think that's what you need to do, I'll support you."

"Thank you, Chuck. I know that—Under one condition though," I interrupted. "I become an agent as well."

"No!" she shouted and her entire being changed. Anger flared up and her nostrils got wider. Her eyes went from a cool blue to gray steel in a matter of seconds. "You are _not_ becoming an agent."

"And why not?" I asked, jutting my chin towards her in a defiant stance. "Do you really think that I'd be okay with just sitting here and _hoping_ that you might come back to me? If you're going back, then I'm joining you."

"I... I..." She sprang up and ran away and I was left flabbergasted. I thought she was going to run out on me, until I heard a door open and the distinct sounds of Sarah throwing up. Forgetting all about our argument, I ran to her and pulled her hair out of her face as she heaved over the toilet.

I sank to my knees and with my free hand, started stroking her back. She stood up, flushed the toilet and rinsed out her mouth. "You okay, Sarah?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I don't know what's wrong with me though. This is like the third time that I've just started throwing up."

"Have you ever been sick before?"

"Well, yeah, but I'd usually get some warning beforehand. A fever or something. Not like this."

"Sarah..." I said as the pieces of the puzzle I didn't know I was looking at, started falling in place, "have you been late with your period?"

"Oh crap," she breathed and she had seemingly figured it out around the same time as I had.

"Congratulations Miss Walker, you're pregnant."

"Fuck," she muttered. "You forget a stupid condom one damn time and sure enough..."

The doctor looked from me, back to Sarah, back to me again. "I'll... leave you two alone to discuss the joyous news."

The door closed and Sarah didn't say a word, just sat still and kept looking ahead of her, to the blank wall. "Penny for your thoughts?" I asked. I was thrilled. Sarah Walker was pregnant. With _our _child. But the problem was that I didn't know how she was handling things.

"Well, this just messed everything up."

"Huh?"

She finally looked at me, and said, "Look. I love you, Chuck. And if I so much as thought about ending this pregnancy, we'd be over. Even if you would say you weren't, you'd come to hate me for it. And truth be told, I'd hate myself."

I swallowed. She was right. I didn't think I could handle seeing that happen. "So what happens now?"

She sighed. "Well, if we're practical about it, there's only really one thing this means. I'm not willing to give you up. So I'm keeping the pregnancy. But that means that I can't go back to the CIA. What kind of a mother would I be?" Her tone was cold, distant. Not an ounce of emotion. This was agent Walker dissecting the information that was given to her.

"But Sarah... are you even happy about this?"

"I will be," she said. "And don't worry, I'll probably have an emotional reaction sooner or later. Just not now. I can't afford it just yet." She grabbed my shirt and pulled me closer. "You'd best be there when I do blow up though," she said through gritted teeth.

"Yes ma'am," I said and couldn't resist giving her a quick peck. "We're having a baby."

She smiled then. "Yes we are."

The doctor came back and we made a future appointment for the necessary sonograms and echoes and whatnot. All the while, Sarah kept a straight face. I couldn't stop smiling. And as we were walking through the hospital on the way to the car, discussing on how we were going to break the news to my sister and the rest of the people involved, such as the general and Casey, something struck me.

"Sarah?"

"Hmm?"

"Will you marry me?"

"What?" she gasped and turned around on the spot. We were in an almost deserted hallway, the only noise that from a janitor who was waxing the floors. I sank to a knee and looked up at her. "I don't have a ring yet, but Sarah, I love you. We're having a child. If that's not a reason for me to ask your hand, then I don't know what is."

She didn't say anything, just kept staring at me, and I was scared she was going to decline, so I did the only thing I could. I kept talking. "I get that it's fast, hell, it's going fast for me too. But y'know, when life hands you lemons, make lemonade, or at least that's what Ellie always said and I mean, we're having a child so what kind of people would we be if we didn't get married first? Call me old fashioned but I feel that children actually need their parents to be married before... oh God, now it sounds like I'm only marrying you because you're pregnant but that's not it at all I love..."

She kissed me soundly and I lost my train of thought. When she released me, she smiled. "I'll say yes if you stop talking." I mimed zipping my mouth shut and she laughed. "Good boy. Yes, Chuck."

"Yes, what?" I asked, only managing to contain my grin by the barest of margins.

"Yes, I'll marry you." I released my smile full force and stood up. I grasped her hand and as I felt the familiar weight, her slender fingers locking with mine, I couldn't ever recall being happier.

Ellie's reaction was, as figured, pretty extreme. She was happy for us, no doubt, and immediately offered to help Sarah with everything that she needed. She had apparently forgotten that she herself was in wedding planning mode right at that instant, but whenever Sarah or I tried to tell her so, she shooed us off and went back into planning our wedding. Of course when we added that Sarah was pregnant... well, sufficed to say, there was no stopping the hugs.

The General took Sarah's resignation much better than I had expected. She thanked Sarah for her loyal service and accepted my new post as stay-at-home-Intersect. She even offered to give me some starting money so I could create my own software company. The funds had come from the finances that were directed towards the hunt for Orion. With my position now securely at home and no longer out in the field, there was no urgency in finding the man. I was safe, or at least as safe as I could be, and the Intersect was still a valid weapon, even when used from a more dormant position. I happily accepted her generous offer. The only downside to it was that Sarah had to give up her Porsche. It was, after all, CIA property. She looked torn, but it was hard to tell whether those were Sarah's real emotions, or rather a magnification by the pregnancy hormones.

Casey took our resignation much harder, although he didn't want to show it. He grunted—a lot more than usual—but eventually wished us luck in our future life. He told us that Operation Bartowski would fully come to a close after the wedding and he would take his leave afterwards. We all knew that was a lie. Operation Bartowski had officially ended with Sarah's resignation, but I decided in the safety of myself that I wouldn't comment. I just shook his hand and thanked him for the two years we got to spend together. He grunted and we left it at that.

Time moved on, and we found ourselves discussing guest lists and what we wanted to do.

"We could invite Bryce," Sarah suggested, as she bit her lip. "I mean, if that's okay with you, of course."

_Bryce_! I hadn't thought about him in a while. It seemed like he had just disappeared after the raid. Although, I wondered, maybe it was because he had to leave. Maybe the idea of me and Sarah together was harder to stomach for him than I had thought.

"Of course that's fine by me," I said. "Yeah, he screwed me over, but if I look at where I am now, I'm thinking that I should thank him. Do you have any way of getting in touch with him?"

"I uh... I know a couple of ways if they're absolutely necessary. But maybe we could use the General?"

I rolled my eyes. "Sarah, please. I know you and Bryce were a thing. And honestly, while I don't need to know any of the gory details, it's not like I'm going to jump out of my skin at the merest mention of him and you together... well, not anymore at least. I figured you probably had some ways, so that's why I asked. But if you still want to ask the General, that's fine. And besides, it's not like you're going to jump into his arms and let him whisk you away."

I stopped, and the sliver of doubt that snuck into my tone was something I thought I wouldn't have to deal with anymore. It was like an old friend coming back, except that this friend was smelly, probably drunk and trying to rob you of your savings. Oh yeah, and steal your fiancé. "Right?" She punched me—with surprising strength, although with Sarah almost everything she did and could do was surprising— pointed to her still flat stomach which held our child, and gave me a 'get real' look. "Right, silly question."

"Let's call the General first. Our method usually involves messages that take weeks to be received and answered. And it's kind of pointless if Bryce is not on a mission and we could just call him."

"Fine by me," I shrugged and Sarah dialled the General. The conversation seemed to be going less than Sarah expected. At one point she gasped and put her hand in front of her mouth. Her complexion became white, like she had seen a ghost, and I knew that whatever she was hearing, it was best. I prepared myself for the worst, and when she had finished the call, she looked at me with tears in her eyes.

"He's dead, Chuck. Killed on a mission. His cover was blown."

I sat down in shock. Bryce, dead? How was that possible? The guy was invincible. He was _Bryce_! Bryce didn't die. But he had. He had succumbed to the life that Sarah had only just survived.

After we found out that Bryce had passed away, life moved at a fast pace for us. While we both grieved for our former friend—and in Sarah's case, lover—we didn't let it get us too down. We were both achingly aware of how cruel the spy world could be, and as heartless as it may have sounded, there were risks to it. I was sad I could never tell him how much I appreciated what he had done, regardless of what I may or may not have thought in the beginning. But we had things to do, and a wedding to plan.

In the mean time, Sarah had found herself a new job. I had suggested she try looking at law enforcement as a possible and somewhat safer replacement of the whole spy business. The government graciously allowed her use of her CIA records, with the necessary things censored, of course. The LAPD were falling over themselves trying to get her to put her signature on a contract. The fact that she was pregnant didn't seem to faze them in the slightest and she had gotten maternity leave and a load of curriculum as a 'welcome to the force' present. Somehow she managed to juggle all that with wedding preparations.

The day itself was magical. There were no other words. Sarah had wanted to elope at first, but we hashed things out and agreed on a church wedding. She was afraid that she wouldn't have any people to invite, but the church was packed. Ex-colleagues of the Buy More were on one side, and Sarah's new co-workers on the force were sat on the other side. It was a wonderful collections of friends and family.

She looked gorgeous as she was being ushered by Casey, slowly walking towards me, and I had let her know how beautiful she was, many times over while the minister preached about things I didn't really hear, nor care about. All I knew was that I was pledging myself to her, wholly and fully. And as I slipped my ring on her finger, as I saw her smile that radiant smile, and as I saw her eyes flick down to her stomach which had started to show a small bump, I couldn't remember ever being happier.

The reception proved to be even better as the woman I had feared for so long came by in person to congratulate us.

"Mister and Mrs. Bartowski. I never thought _I'd_ be uttering those words, Mister Bartowski. Especially not in conjunction with agent Walker."

I barked a nervous laugh. "Thank you, General. And we're so pleased to see you here... aren't we, honey?"

"We are," Sarah said and she laughed too. "To be honest General, I never thought I'd be here either. But then, life rarely becomes what we think it will be, wouldn't you agree?"

"Agreed, agent Walker," she said, and her tone told me there was something more behind those words, but I chose not to press. It was a rare occurrence to see the General so uninhibited and I was enjoying it. She took another sip of her champagne and beckoned me closer. "I'm glad you got her to see reason," she whispered before winking at me.

Sarah looked at me with an eyebrow arched and I shrugged. She let it drop, but I knew that she was going to eventually find out what the General had said to me. She had her own methods for doing that. I couldn't wait.

"Anyway," the General continued, "before I leave, I have but one more thing to do. Agent Walker... I mean, Officer Bartowski, I have a little present for you, to celebrate the nuptials." She dug into her purse and pulled a set of keys out. "The government thanks you for your tireless service."

"Are these...?" Sarah asked in wonderment.

"The keys to your Porsche? Yes. Yes they are. Now, I shall leave you two alone. Enjoy the festivities." She turned and left without saying another word and I glanced over to my wife—my wife! I still couldn't quite wrap my head around that—to see how she took getting her baby back. Her face was composed, but a smile was tugging at the edges of her lips, her eyes were crinkled and her hands were almost vibrating in excitement. God bless the General.

But as wonderful as the wedding and the honeymoon were—and they were—what I was most looking forward to was settling into a rhythm. Sarah was on maternity leave after coming back, which suited her fine. It gave her time to learn both the intricacies of being a LEO and a mother, while I worked at home. After a year or so, I became the work-at-home dad, and Sarah went out, keeping the streets of LA safe. Or well, safer anyway.

And every day, after she came home and kissed me hello, I'd give her a foot massage as she relaxed on the couch and told me about her day. And we'd laugh, and on odd days out we'd maybe even cry about the day to day happenings of a policewoman. And we'd sit with our beautiful baby girl, whom we had named Emma Lisa Bartowski—I had lobbied for this name ever since finding out what her mother was called. Lisa as a middle name was obvious of course—and became the almost disgustingly saccharine picture of domestic tranquillity.

Other days, on her days off, I'd come out of our study, bleary-eyed and tired after a rigorous coding session. And I would find her making faces at our daughter, or playing with her, completely oblivious to the outside world. At times like that, I would fall in love with her all over again.

Of course there were still the nightmares, for both of us. For Sarah it involved waking up in that same dark place and for me it was finding her, but it being too late. We both received counselling for it though and my shrink suggested I write about the experience. Maybe venting my problems to paper, even if no one ever got to read it, would help solve them. So I guess here I am, writing them down. Most of what I just wrote is still classified, but in the end, all that matters is that I love her, she loves me, and we love our baby girl. That's what is important. And the past, no matter how hard it has been, is the past.

Oh, Sarah's home. If you'll excuse me, I've got some catching up to do with my two favorite girls.

* * *

**The End**


End file.
